


Broken Promises

by Buckeye01



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anger, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Arguing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Original Character(s), Tears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2015-12-11
Packaged: 2018-05-05 13:27:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5376932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buckeye01/pseuds/Buckeye01
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dissatisfied with season 2 ending? This is an AU/Alternate reason added to S2E10, <em>Trial and Punishment</em>--why Aramis really left for Douai. Many fans believe Aramis was running away & abandoning his friends in the series, so I have added a more valid reason why he must leave his friends & his brotherhood behind. Lots of angst, anger and tears lead Aramis to finally say Goodbye.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Aile Lescot

**Author's Note:**

> Hello Friends! Welcome to my newest story based on S2E10, _Trial & Punishment._ After speaking with other fans of the Musketeers, I have found many who were disappointed with the ending of season 2 who felt Aramis was "runnning away" or "abandoning his friends." The ending was too "unemotional" and the others let Aramis go "too easily." I wasn't happy with their explanation of Aramis leaving either so I added a lot of angst and deeper reasons that would drive Aramis to the point of feeling he had no other choice but to put distance between himself and Paris. Consider this an AU/Alternate "addition" to Aramis's leaving.
> 
> Notice: I use the French spelling, "le Dauphin," consistently through this story. More in notes below.

_Aile Lescot_

“Our regiment numbers are down due to the assignment with the royal delegation in Orléans,” Captain Tréville reported with disgust as he paced in front of the formation of Musketeers. “And now,” the captain paused as he glanced up at the sky, “the king wants to go hunting.”

The captain paused again as he huffed with disgust and shook his head. “I will need to assign most of you men for this detachment as the king wants to travel to Chantilly and will be staying at the Château de Chantilly.”

“Are the queen and le Dauphin to accompany the king on this hunt, Captain?” Athos dubiously asked.

“As a matter of fact, no,” the captain replied. “The king has requested two Musketeers be assigned to guard the queen,” he hesitated as he knew the news would not be received well.

“Only two, Captain?” Aramis was incredulous. “The king takes most of the regiment and the queen only gets two men?”

“There will also be a detachment of Red Guards in charge of guarding the palace perimeter,” the captain added dryly, watching the reactions carefully.

“This doesn’t make sense, Captain,” Athos challenged. “Why assign only two Musketeers with a detachment of Red Guards? Why not just give the entire assignment to the Guards?”

“Because the king does not fully trust the Red Guards to watch the queen and le Dauphin,” the captain replied with a deep sigh. “He wants two of my best Musketeers to join the Guards for his own peace of mind. This assignment comes directly from the king and we do not question him, Athos, we just obey.”

“And who are the lucky two who get assigned to the palace with the Red Guards?” Porthos questioned with a frown.

“The queen requested…” Captain Tréville paused as a look of dissension flashed in his eyes. “The queen requested Athos and Aramis specifically,” he sighed. “King Louis agreed, so you two will be with the Red Guards watching the immediate palace precincts.”

Athos and Aramis exchanged surprised glances, eyes wide and disbelieving. Aramis turned his attention back to the front, staring ahead into the distance as his mind drifted elsewhere. The medic missed the worried glances shared between Athos and the captain. Being quite distracted, Aramis also failed to notice Athos’s imperceptible shake of his head as he sighed then closed his eyes in abhorrence of the queen’s request.

“Captain, when does the king leave on his hunting trip?” d’Artagnan asked, eager to end the uncomfortable silence that hung over the formation.

“The king wants to leave for Chantilly tomorrow,” the captain answered, to the surprise of the men. “I suggest that you men get your belongings ready, you leave at first light. You are dismissed,” he said. Captain Tréville turned on his heel, climbed the stairs to his office and slammed the door behind him.

**Next Day, Palais du Louvre:**

“You Red Guards will be patrolling the perimeter as well as the grounds of the palace,” Athos ordered the Guards. “I want teams stationed around all four sides of Jardin des Tuileries and Palais des Tuileries; and teams patrolling the length of the Grande Galerie. For security reasons, the queen will be moved to the Aile Lescot where Aramis and I will patrol that wing and its perimeter. Keep your eyes open for anyone coming onto the grounds; you are to stop everyone to ask their business here. Get to your positions and stay alert,” Athos nodded as he turned on his heel to leave.

“We don’t take orders from damn Musketeers,” a Red Guard sneered.

Athos strode to the guard so quickly it took the man by surprise. “I received these orders directly from Captain Tréville, who answers _only_ to the king,” he said. “These are the king’s orders, and all plans were approved by him. Now either you carry out your duties or I will report you to the king upon his return.”

The Guard stared defiantly at Athos but finally relented. “Damn Musketeers,” he spat on the ground as he stormed off toward the gardens.

“This assignment couldn’t end soon enough to suit me,” Athos grumbled as he strode toward Aile Lescot with Aramis close on his heels.

“As long as the Red Guards stay outside and keep to the grounds,” Aramis reasoned, “and we stay inside, we should have no confrontations. “We just got here and I already want to wring their bloody necks,” he snorted.

“We have three more days assigned with them so it will do all of us good to get along,” Athos sighed at the prospect. “Let’s just keep to ourselves—as distant as entirely possible—to keep our sanity and our tempers in check.”

“God, this is going to be a long three days,” Aramis mumbled as he climbed the stone steps.

**Three Days Later, Aile Lescot:**

“When _exactly_ did the king say when he would be back?” Aramis asked as he peered out the window next door to the queen’s apartments overlooking the courtyard below.

“The king should be back later today; or by tomorrow at the latest,” Athos replied. 

“Good, I don’t know how much longer the queen can stand being restricted to her apartment,” Aramis stated absently as he watched a team of Red Guards patrol along the Grande Galerie. The team stopped at the end of the long building, turned around and went back the way they came.

Athos shot the medic an irritated look as he opened his mouth to say something, but then Aramis started recounting yesterday’s conversation with the queen.

“The queen said the baby is teething and is cranky; he needs a change of scenery or a distraction from the monotony of her quarters,” Aramis said. “The baby would love a stroll through the gardens in the warm sunshine…”

“Enough!” Athos’s shout echoed down the stone hallway. “Do you even hear yourself?” he asked as they moved into the nearby room for privacy. “Need I remind you that we are on duty and our job is to protect the wife and son of the king,” he explicitly reminded. “The king requested that his family remain _inside_ under careful watch until he returns home.”

“I know that, Athos,” Aramis snapped. “I was there, remember? I heard the king’s orders,” he hissed.

“Then you should remember _who_ you work for,” Athos countered. “You work for the king; the queen can request what she will but her wishes will be denied.”

“How can you be so apathetic in regard to the queen?” Aramis asked sharply. “She has been detained in her own apartment for three days without the freedom to even go outside to take in the fresh air,” he growled. “In the meantime, the king is outside doing as he pleases and going where he pleases, while wasting Musketeer manpower for his sport.”

“Louis is the King of France,” Athos’s eyes darted around the vicinity before continuing. “If the king requests his _own_ men to accompany him on a hunting trip, we don’t question the king we…” 

“… we follow orders,” Aramis dutifully finished. “Don’t give me that duty and honor speech, Athos. Being king should not give him the right to keep his wife a prisoner in her own home,” he snarled. “The queen is treated worse than the common peasant outside these palace gates. At least a peasant has the freedom to go where they please, when they please. The queen hasn’t the liberty or free rein to simply take her son for a walk in the garden!”

“Don’t you think I know that, Aramis?” Athos retorted. “But we are not here to concern ourselves with her wishes to go for a stroll in the garden; we are bound by our duty to the king to protect his family during his absence.”

“Do _you_ hear yourself, Athos?” Aramis closed the space between them. “You’re starting to sound more impassive and unemotional every day. Do you even have a heart in there?” Aramis jabbed a finger at Athos’s chest.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Athos hissed through clenched teeth.

“Your mind will only acknowledge duty and honor as you follow your orders; in the process you forget the heart and emotion of, not only yourself, but also of the people you serve,” Aramis explained. “You forget that the queen is a _person_ not the property of the king. The queen is a woman with a baby in pain…”

“That _woman_ is the wife of the king and her baby is heir to the throne,” Athos interrupted. “I haven’t forgotten that fact but it seems you have,” he pointed his fingers into Aramis’s chest. “Their safety comes before their freedom; and the king’s wishes always come before the queen’s.”

Aramis instantly grabbed Athos by the collar of his doublet and shoved him hard against the wall. “That is the woman I love and her baby… he is _my_ son!”

“Le Dauphin is _not_ your son!” With incredible speed, Athos spun himself around to pin Aramis against the wall with an arm secured tightly across the medic’s chest and the other across his friend’s throat. “I don’t know why the king agreed to have you guard the queen, considering the charges Rochefort brought against you, but it seems you learned _nothing_ from your time in prison.”

Aramis lashed out, swinging with both arms to free himself from Athos’s tight grip and pushed his friend back. He angrily smacked Athos’s hands off his body, “I can’t just forget that Louis is _my_ son, dammit!”

Athos glared at Aramis as he breathed heavily through his nose, causing his nostrils to flare. “I should have requested a change of assignment,” he shook his head. “I should have known you couldn’t distance yourself emotionally from the queen.”

“She is the mother of my son,” Aramis took a step toward Athos as he whispered harshly.

“Louis is _not_ your son,” Athos yelled. “He can _never_ be your son! Le Dauphin is King Louis’s son and heir to the throne of France—the sooner you accept that as _fact_ the easier it will be for you to do your job as a Musketeer. If you cannot distance yourself from the queen and the baby,” he paused, “then you have no business being a Musketeer.”

“Perhaps this isn’t my place anymore,” Aramis seethed.

“The hell it isn’t,” Athos spat. “You need to get your head on straight, Aramis,” he stepped toward the door but stopped. “After everything that you and the queen have been through recently and still you refuse to change,” he let out almost a maniacal laugh. “What will it take to get through your stubborn nature that the queen and Le Dauphin are not _yours_ to love? How many people have to get hurt before you learn to walk away?”

“When I walk away is none of your business,” Aramis spat.

“Yes it _is_ my business!” Athos retorted with fury. “I could have easily gone to my death at the end of a rope because of _your_ affair with the queen. You’re so overcome with lust that you’re not thinking straight…” 

Athos wasn’t yet finished when he was caught off-guard by the sudden fist that slammed into his jaw, knocking him backward into the wall. He slumped partially down the wall until he regained his footing then stood to full height, glaring at Aramis.

“I’m sorry, I seemed to have misspoken,” Athos huffed with disgust. “I said that you were not thinking straight but the truth is you’re not thinking at all.” Athos stepped close to Aramis with his jaw clenched and his fists balled at his side. “I will say this only once and you will not hear of it again…”

“I do not care any further of what you have to say,” Aramis started to turn away but Athos caught him by the arm and held tight. 

“Well, I’m going to say it anyway,” Athos determined. “Think _before_ you act; walk away if you’re tempted. Aramis, stop giving in to your weakness—it only leads to pain. Next time, you might not have the chance to say you’re sorry.” 

“I don’t need your forgiveness,” Aramis stared at Athos, his jaw set and his heart determined. The Spaniard was not about to be swayed by words of reason or logic. Not even by Athos. 

At last, Athos threw his hands up in disgust. “Does duty and honor not mean anything to you anymore?” he asked, shaking his head. “I’m going downstairs to patrol; I can’t be around you right now,” he turned on his heel then left the room.

**Downstairs:**

As Athos slowly walked the long hallway, his eyes habitually scanned vacant rooms as he passed by. His footsteps echoed through the wide arched hallway lined with oil paintings and sculptures. Once he reached the end of the hallway, he stopped in front of the stairs and sighed.

The Musketeer sat down heavily on the hard steps of the curving staircase and cursed under his breath, “dammit.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and then scrubbed a hand down his face, wincing at the soreness of his jaw. He let his head hang low as he sighed again. 

“What the hell are we doing?” Athos stared at the floor as his mind replayed the terrible argument he had with his brother. “Dammit, Aramis,” he growled. He shook his head and then rubbed his temples as the blood pounded against the massaging fingertips. 

He knew his words to Aramis had to sting but nothing he said was malicious or false. In fact, everything he said were truths his friend needed to own up to before his situation got out of control. At that last thought, Athos let out an almost deranged laugh. “I think it’s already out of control,” he replied to himself.

“You can return anytime now, Your Majesty,” Athos grumbled about the king’s absence. “I can’t take much more of this,” he sighed as he stood to begin his patrol anew. Athos glanced out a window to gaze across the long courtyard to the Palais des Tuileries, scanning the area for activity. “What the…” his jaw dropped as he watched a group of men approaching, staying flush with the walls of the Grande Galerie. “Where is everyone?” his eyes darted across the courtyard for any Red Guards in pursuit but there were none to be found.

Athos drew his sword and rushed out the door. He was instantly attacked by two assailants hidden by the door, waiting for the opportunity to lunge at the unsuspecting lieutenant. Out of sheer instinct, the Musketeer blocked the blade of one assailant but nearly stumbled as he swiveled to parry the attack of the second man. Regaining his foothold, Athos positioned himself expertly in front of the pair of swordsmen and stood ready.

The Musketeer teased his opponents with daring and finesse, watching for the first to attack. The first assailant lunged forward, slicing his sword down toward the lieutenant but he raised his sword with an opposition block and deflected the blade with a clash of steel on steel. The dueling blades glimmered in the bright sunlight as the opponents parried and counter-parried in flashy showmanship.

The second assailant stepped forward with his blade but Athos easily blocked the attack with his main gauche. Turning on his heel, the Musketeer slashed his sword across the second man's chest to distract him before plunging his dagger deep into the man’s neck. He wheeled around to block another thrusting lunge from the first assailant then kicked the man hard in the side of his knee, stunning him. As the man leaned over at the waist, Athos kicked him to the ground and thrust his sword through the man’s belly.

Athos stepped over the dead bodies, panting heavily from the fight. He wiped the sweat from his brow and looked with surprise as he saw more men approaching from behind the palace. “Where the hell are the Red Guards?” he yelled in frustration as he ran to head off the assailants. 

The running Musketeer turned sideways to avoid a sloppy attack from one swordsman, which then allowed Athos to turn and plunge his blade deep into the man’s chest. He kicked the man backward to free his sword in time to block an attack from a burly swordsman who appeared drunk and unstable on his feet. With a swift stroke of his arm, Athos swung his sword and sliced it across the burly man’s neck, opening it in a gush of blood.

Athos groaned aloud as he watched a new group of assailants run from behind the palace and across the courtyard. “Thank God,” he breathed a sigh of relief when he spotted the Red Guards chasing close behind the bandits with swords and pistols drawn.

The Musketeer ran to head off the bandits. He dodged a lunging attack of one bandit giving him time to aim his pistol and drop the man with a shot to the chest. Athos tossed aside the pistol and drew his sword as another bandit surged toward him with his blade projected forward, ready to strike.

Athos blocked the blade and continued fighting against the bandit for an unknown period of time. He was growing weary of the fight when he heard the sound of a pistol firing from somewhere in front of him. Time seemed to stop as he felt a sudden burning in his chest followed by the sensation of him falling. A Red Guard dueling swords with an assailant next to him moved strangely in slow motion as the scenery blurred around him.

The air rushed from his lungs as he hit the ground, sending the sword in his hand skittering across the rocky pebbles of the courtyard. He blinked as he stared at the clouds floating by—big and fluffy puffs of clouds. Gradually, the world went strangely quiet as his vision faded to nothing.

**Queen’s Apartment:**

Aramis stared at the wooden cup filled with water on the table beside him. His mind replayed the angry words thrown during the argument and he seethed with rage. Lashing out, he swung at the cup and sent it flying into the wall. The cup shattered and splintered, sending pieces bouncing off the wall and scattering across the floor. Water splashed everywhere, even spraying the nearby oil paintings.

Next door, the baby started to cry at the noise, causing Aramis to groan out loud. He leaned over at the waist, putting his hands on his knees as support, as he collected his emotions and got his temper under control.

“Dammit,” he cursed under his breath as he straightened. He ran a hand over his face then took a deep breath before walking to the queen’s room to knock quietly on the door. 

The queen opened the door looking frayed and worn out. “Aramis,” she uttered wearily. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Your Majesty, what’s wrong?” he looked over her shoulder at the screaming baby in the cradle. “What’s wrong with the baby?”

“I think he’s running a fever, he won’t stop crying because he’s teething,” she replied with worry. “Please, could you help me?”

The queen stepped to the side as Aramis entered the apartment and shut the door behind him. “Let me see what I can do,” he smiled as he picked up the crying baby. He gently bounced the baby in his arms as he paced in circles around the room. “Do you have any brandy in here?” he asked the queen. “We can use the wine to dull the pain topically,” the medic frowned as the baby screamed in his ear. “I can also look in the kitchen downstairs for some clove and Echinacea, which will help ease the pain.”

“Yes, I have wine,” the queen replied and went to fetch a bottle. The medic took the bottle then sat down with the baby on his lap. Aramis poured a small amount into a cup then dipped the corner of a clean cloth into the wine. He wrapped the wine-soaked cloth over his finger and rubbed it softly around in circles over the baby’s gums as he whispered soothingly in Louis’s ear until he finally stopped crying. 

The queen stood and watched Aramis soothe the baby quietly with a smile that spread across her face. She lovingly gazed at her son being treated so tenderly by the man Louis would never know as his true father. The scene made her heart break from anguish and swell with pride simultaneously.

Soon, the baby’s eyes drooped before he finally fell asleep, cradled in Aramis’s arms. “I guess we won’t need the herbs just yet,” he whispered with a smile.

“Lay him down in the cradle,” Anne instructed Aramis. “Careful, don’t wake him!” she cringed as the baby fussed slightly but then went back to sleep. “This is the first time he’s slept in hours,” she sighed.

“He should sleep well for a few hours,” Aramis pulled the blanket up then tucked it around the baby’s chin. “At least you’ll have a moment to rest. Why don’t you use this time to get some sleep too? I can keep an eye on the baby for a while,” he said as he softly stroked Louis’s hair.

“Thank you, Aramis,” Anne smiled weakly.

Aramis stood to face the queen, gazing at her tired features with concern. He tenderly tucked wayward strands of hair behind her ear and then leaned forward to kiss her softly on the lips. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that,” he pulled back and apologized.

“No, don’t be sorry,” Anne said as she pulled Aramis closer so she could plant her lips softly on his in a warm kiss. She pressed herself against her lover as they kissed deeper and more passionately until he pulled away.

“I shouldn’t…” he began, but the queen broke off his rejection with another deep and passionate kiss. Any hesitation he had over rekindling the infatuation with his forbidden lover was forgotten in the heat of the moment. “God, I want you,” he whispered as he kissed her soft skin, down her neck and toward her breasts.

Soon, they were standing in a pile of clothing, their breath coming in heavy pants as their naked bodies pressed against each other. “You are so beautiful,” Aramis whispered as he guided the queen to the bed. He ran his lips down the length of her silky skin before he moved on top of her, joining with her and the two moved as one.

Suddenly, the sound of gunfire ringing out in the courtyard made them flinch and stop their lovemaking. “What was that?” the queen gasped as she sat bolt upright.

“Merde!” Aramis cursed as he pulled away from the queen then ran to the window in a panic. In the courtyard he could see a group of Red Guards dueling men he couldn’t identify. His eyes scanned the scene below; he gasped as he spotted Athos sparring with one of the assailants. “Madre de Dios… Athos!”

Aramis ran from the bedroom to their pile of clothing and pulled on his smalls and briskly donned his uniform. “Get dressed... quickly!” he ordered the queen as he stumbled around trying to get his boots on. Once he was fully dressed, he helped the queen button her gown and finish dressing.

“Take the baby and hide in your secret room,” Aramis said as he ran to the cradle and scooped the baby into his arms.

“But, what’s going on out there?” the queen asked as she took Louis in her arms then rushed to the hidden room behind the panels of her bedroom wall.

“Don’t ask questions,” Aramis instructed. “Stay here until I come for you. Do not, I repeat, do _not_ come out until I say you can.” The medic shut the secret door, making certain that it was secure and well concealed, before running into the hallway to join Athos.

Aramis ran down the flights of stairs, skipping two and three at a time. As he rounded the landing to the last set of stairs then froze at the sound of another gunshot. “Oh God,” he uttered as he ran down the remaining steps and outside into the courtyard.

He jumped over the two bodies lying on the ground nearest to the building and ran toward the Red Guards still sparring with the unknown assailants. Aramis glanced around, frantically looking for Athos until he spotted a dark heap lying motionless on the ground ahead of him—stopping him in his tracks.

“No, oh no!” Aramis yelled as he sprinted toward the unconscious Musketeer. As the medic laid eyes on Athos, every fiber of his being seemed to freeze. His heart thumped in his chest as he looked down on his bleeding friend. An assailant came at him suddenly with this sword drawn; Aramis quickly drew his pistol and expertly shot the man mid-chest, dropping him instantly. The remaining assailants were either dead or were being taken care of so Aramis turned back to Athos.

“Athos?” Aramis said as he dropped to his knees beside his friend. “God, what have I done?” he gasped. His shaking fingers seemed to involuntarily follow his gaze to the hole in the leather where blood streamed out in a steady flow, dripping down the side of the lieutenant’s doublet and onto the dirt below. 

“I need to see how bad you’ve been hit.” Aramis blinked back the tears and began unbuttoning the blood-covered doublet. He threw aside the leather to expose a growing stain of red spreading across the front of the white linen shirt.

“Oh no,” the medic groaned as he pulled away the shirt so he could see the torn flesh gushing with a steady stream of blood from a hole just above his right breast. He rolled him slightly to look at his back but saw no exit wound. “The ball is still in you, my friend.”

Athos’s prophetic words from their argument flashed through Aramis’s mind and made the medic groan. “How many people have to get hurt before you learn to walk away from her?” 

“Athos, you were right all along, but I wouldn’t listen. God, why didn’t I listen?” he rasped, wiping away a tear. “I couldn’t resist the temptation; I should have known better,” he whispered to himself. He was stalling, afraid of what he might _not_ find when he pressed his fingers against his friend’s neck… but he had to know.

“Brother, I’m sorry for what I’ve done,” he whispered an apology. “Please God, don’t let it be too late,” the medic pleaded as he reached toward Athos’s neck. “Please let him be alive so I can tell him I’m sorry,” he pressed his trembling fingers down on the sweaty skin and prayed for a miracle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to _Académie Francaise_ when referring to the French heir: "le plus souvent avec une majuscule." Dauphin is usually spelled out with a capital letter, though not mandatory but widely preferred.
> 
> Common mistake in fanfic: You do not have to capitalize rank or titles UNLESS used with the name or if they are being addressed by that title. Offices, positions, and job titles such as president, king, emperor, executive director are common nouns and therefore start with a capital letter only when followed by a person's name.
> 
> The captain gave the sergeant orders vs Captain Tréville gave Sergeant Smith orders, or "you wanted to see me, Captain?"  
> The king went golfing vs King Louis went golfing.  
> The queen went shopping vs Queen Anne went shopping.
> 
>  **The Louvre,** or _Palais du Louvre_ actually began as a 12th Century fortress built by King Philip Augustus, along the right bank of the Seine River. Its foundations are viewable in the basement level as the "Medieval Louvre" department at the museum. The fortress was torn down in 1546 by King Francis I in favor of a larger royal residence which was added to by almost every subsequent French monarch.
> 
>  **The Tuileries Palace** or _Palais des Tuileries_ was built in 1564. After the accidental death of Henry II, in 1559, his widow Catherine de Medici planned a new palace. She began construction of Tuileries Palace in 1564, using architect Philibert de l'Orme. The name Tuileries derives from the tile kilns—or Tuileries—which had previously occupied the site. The palace was formed by a range of long, narrow buildings. During the reign of Henry IV the building was enlarged to the south, so it joined the long riverside gallery, the Grande Galerie, which ran all the way to the older Louvre Palace in the east.
> 
> Catherine de Medici had a second floor apartment which overlooked the beautiful and vast gardens, _Jardin des Tuileries_ that she had modeled after her favorite gardens of her native Florence Italy.
> 
> I will return to the Palais des Tuileries in a minute.
> 
> The idea of linking the Louvre to the Tuileries Palace materialized soon with construction in 1566 by Charles IX of the Petite Galerie along the Seine. In 1595, the project was revived. The Gallery of the waterfront entered the "Grand Design" by Henry IV. Finished in in 1608, the Grande Galerie is four hundred and fifty meters long and allowed the king direct access from the Tuileries Palace to his Louvre apartments without having to go outside.
> 
>  **Aile Lescot (Lescot Wing)** is the oldest portion above ground of the Louvre Palace and was built by architect Pierre Lescot between 1546 and 1551. It sits between the _Pavillon du Roi_ and the _Pavillon de l'Horloge (Sully Wing),_ forming a square of buildings with the inner courtyard called the _Cour Carrée (Square Court)._
> 
> Today the Louvre Museum is among the largest museums in the world with over 400,000 works of art. Over the course of 300+ years, the Louvre was always being added onto. The palace that Louis XIII or even Louis XIV knew, they would not recognize today. With the layout of today's Louvre you will notice in front of the Sully Wing in the _Cour Napoléon_ is the _Pyramide;_ then in the _Cour de Carrousel_ is the _Arc de Triomphe._ The Richelieu Wing on the North and Denon Wing on the South side of the courts were built in 1852–1857. At the end of these impressive structures is the beautiful Tuileries Garden (Jardin des Tuileries).
> 
> Now, back to the Palais des Tuileries: If you notice today that between the Tuileries Gardens and the Sully Wing of the Louvre Museum, the Tuileries Palace is nowhere to be found. When I was doing my research for the layout of the palace grounds vs today, I realized something was missing. The Tuileries Palace was burned down and is now GONE!
> 
> In May 1871, during the suppression of the Paris Commune, 12 men set fire to the Tuileries Palace using petroleum, liquid tar and turpentine. The fire lasted 48 hours and thoroughly gutted the palace, except for the southernmost part, the Pavillon de Flore, (the gate of honor, the Arc de Triomphe du Carrousel remains, as well as the foundation). The dome itself was blown up by explosives placed in the central pavilion and detonated by the converging fires. The library and other portions of the Louvre were also set on fire by _Communards_ and entirely destroyed. The ruins stood for 11 years as they tried to decide if they could restore it, but the cost was too great and it was demolished in 1882.
> 
> So, because of 12 men, France lost hundreds of years of architectural history and beauty, not to mention all that history and knowledge destroyed in the library fire! Such a sickening, despicable crime and unspeakable shame!


	2. Palais des Tuileries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m going to make one last promise to you and to God,” Aramis sat up with resolve. “I swear on my life that I will not break this vow—not this time. I swear it, not this time.” He took a deep breath then closed his eyes to pray.

Aramis pressed his trembling fingers down hard on the sweaty skin and prayed for a miracle. He closed his eyes and he waited for a sign of life, for the precious thumping of a pulse beneath his fingertips. He waited…

One…

Two… 

The medic released the breath he was holding as a relieved sob escaped his throat. “Thank God, thank God.” Aramis hung his head low as he sat back on his haunches, feeling emotionally wiped out. “I’m so sorry, Athos, I should have been here with you.”

“Aramis?” said a friendly voice. A Red Guard who knew the medic knelt down beside the Musketeers and placed a comforting hand on Aramis’s shoulder. “You know that I’m a trained medic also; is there anything I can do to help?” the man offered.

“Pierre, we need to get him inside,” Aramis pulled himself together now that he was in the company of another medic. “Is there someone who can fetch the king’s physician while we carry him to a room?”

“Yes, just a moment,” Pierre rushed to a Red Guard cleaning blood from his sword. “Félix, go find Doctor Bouvard; tell him that we have a patient who has been shot in the chest and we need his assistance immediately. We’ll bring the Musketeer to a bedchamber on the second floor,” Pierre nodded. “Go now!” he ordered.

Returning to Aramis, Pierre knelt beside the patient. “We’re going to take him inside the palace, to a room on the second floor. Félix is fetching the doctor and he will meet us there,” he informed the medic. “André, help us carry this wounded man inside the palace,” the Red Guard called out to his comrade.

Aramis squatted at Athos’s head and prepared to lift the Musketeer under his arms as Pierre and André grabbed a leg and lifted Athos under his hips. The three men carried the unconscious Musketeer the short distance across the courtyard into the Tuileries Palace, up to the second floor and into an empty bedchamber.

The two medics stripped Athos of his weapons belt, doublet and shirt. “André, see if you can find the nurses; we need clean cloths, bandages, water and wine. When the doctor gets here, he should have an excellent surgical kit, since he is the king’s physician,” Aramis assumed.

André ran off to find the nurses and to help gather the necessary supplies for surgery. He passed Doctor Bouvard in the hallway, “the patient is in the first bedroom on the left,” he told the physician.

“I’m Doctor François Bouvard,” the doctor introduced himself as he entered the room, carrying several towels draped over his arm and a large surgical kit. “Let me see what we have here,” he said as he examined the hole caused by the musket ball. The physician hissed through clenched teeth as he gently ran his fingers around the wound and over the surrounding ribs.

“Oh dear,” Doctor Bouvard uttered as he felt one, then two ribs give way to his gentle pressure. “Well, he definitely has two broken ribs…” his voice trailed as he continued his examination. “I don’t feel any further fractures. Is there an exit wound?” the doctor asked.

“No, I checked when he was outside and didn’t see anything,” Aramis answered the doctor.

“Alright, but I will check again to be sure,” the doctor glanced underneath Athos’s back for pooling blood. “I don’t see any blood but if you would very carefully—be mindful of his broken ribs—roll the patient so I can see his back,” he instructed.

The two medics rolled Athos, keeping him as straight as possible in reference to the broken ribs. The physician peeked underneath Athos to examine his back then nodded when he saw there was no visible exit wound. “There is no exit wound, which means the ball is still somewhere inside his chest. We’re going to have to cut him open; let us get ready for surgery, shall we?” the doctor asked as he looked around for the requested supplies.

André returned with pots filled with water, one of which was still steaming. “Be careful with this pot, it’s very hot,” he placed the hot water down carefully to avoid splashing and burning his feet. Two nurses entered the room carrying with them plenty of clean towels and bandages, tongs for the hot towels, and a bottle of brandy.

“Very well, I believe we are ready to begin,” the physician opened his surgical kit then arranged the tools he would need. The medics dipped towels in the hot water and, once cooled enough to handle, used the cloths to wipe the sweat and blood from the skin until the chest was clean. The doctor poured a liberal amount of brandy over the wound to sanitize, then took his scalpel to cut an incision over the broken ribs. 

“I’m going to need both of you,” the physician told Aramis and Pierre, “to use the blunt hook retractors to hold back the ribs so I can begin searching for the ball. Nurse, if you would hold the light up over his chest… yes, right there is perfect,” he smiled. “Alright, let’s get started.”

“I will use the broken ribs as a way into his chest,” Bouvard voiced his thoughts aloud. “You two boys go ahead and pull apart the ribs and hold steady,” the doctor nodded. “Hmm, I can clearly see where the ball bounced off these two ribs—effectively breaking both bones—but these ribs were broken by stopping the ball from entering into his lung… probably saved his life.”

Once the ribs were separated, the physician took the probing tool to search for the musket ball. It wasn’t long before the tool clinked into the lead object embedded in the pectoral muscle, “ah, it appears that I have found the elusive ball.” 

Taking the extractor, the doctor carefully grasped the misshapen lead object and carefully pulled it free from the muscle then on out of the chest. He dropped the lead object into a proffered bowl then next picked up the small-tipped tweezers. “I’m going to see what damage the ball did to his muscle, and see if there is any damage to his lung.”

“His muscle is torn, which was to be expected…” the doctor’s voice trailed as he continued searching for damage done in the ball’s path. After some minutes of silence as he searched, Doctor Bouvard grimaced with a sharp intake of breath.

“What is it, Doctor?” Aramis asked with worry. “Is something wrong?”

“Well, yes and no,” the doctor answered. “It appears the ball just glanced off the surface of the lung but did not penetrate the membrane—which is good. However, I do see the beginning of a bruise starting to form.”

“What does a bruised lung mean for Athos?” Aramis asked as peered inside the chest to get a look for himself.

“A bruised lung will certainly make it a little more painful to breathe,” the doctor huffed, but saw no one was smiling. He cleared his throat, “some blood has formed over the lung membrane and may cause soreness when inhaling,” the doctor replied. “However, include the bruised lung with the damaged pectoral muscle _and_ the broken ribs… well, he will be quite sore for some time.”

“Will he be alright, Doctor?” Aramis asked with a sigh.

“As long as infection doesn’t settle in,” Bouvard nodded. “With any type of lung injury, there is always the possibility of illness, such as bronchitis or pneumonia; but given that his lung was never actually penetrated, he should avoid going down that undesirable path.”

“Thank God for that, Doctor,” Aramis frowned. 

“Nurse, hand me my needle and thread so I can fix this torn muscle,” the doctor requested. “Then we shall repair his ribs and close him up.”

The doctor proceeded to repair the torn muscle and other internal injuries caused by the speeding lead ball. Once he was done with the internal suturing, the physician instructed the two medics to carefully realign the ribs as he guided the bone back into place with his fingers until they were set. “Alright, that should hold them together,” Bouvard said as he nodded to the medics.

Aramis wiped the sweat from his brow and released a long, heavy breath. “My fingers have cramped from holding that tool for so long,” he frowned. The medic flexed and curled his fingers repeatedly; then cracked his knuckles noisily. “Ah, that’s better,” he smiled satisfactorily.

“Well, now that your hands are completely relaxed and loose, would you like to close him up?” Doctor Bouvard offered Aramis the needle and thread.

“Me?” Aramis asked with surprise. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve heard that you are quite a medic—one of the best,” the physician complimented. “I’ve also heard that your needlework is outstanding.” 

“Thank you, Doctor,” Aramis smiled, though inside he wasn’t smiling. Athos would not be in this position if he had just stuck to doing his job as a Musketeer on guard duty. “But, Athos is your patient,” he objected.

“Nonsense, I’d like to see your handiwork, if I may?” the doctor countered as he handed the medic the needle and thread.

“Alright,” he agreed. “I’d like to sit down to do this,” Aramis wearily looked around the room, “is there a stool I can use?”

“Yes, there is one just a few doors down,” a nurse said as she went to retrieve the stool. When she returned, Aramis sat down to begin the arduous task of suturing Athos’s chest closed. He paused a moment as he blinked back the tears blurring his vision, “I’m sorry, Athos.” 

Aramis thought about his friend fighting the raiders alone outside while he was inside with the queen committing treason a second time—and breaking promises made to Athos and to God. 

_I should have been out there with him. Athos never should have had to fight those raiders alone without me watching his back. Oh God, what have I done?_ Aramis wiped his eyes dry with his shoulder and continued sewing. At last, the medic pulled the last suture through the skin, tied it securely in a knot and cut off the excess string. “All done,” he sighed heavily.

“Ah yes,” the doctor examined the sutures with care, nodding his approval. “I see why your reputation is as such, my dear medic. You are indeed quite talented. Very well done, Aramis!”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Aramis blew out a long breath then sat up straight as he tried to pop his back. “Thank you also, Pierre, for your thoughtfulness in helping me,” the Musketeer clapped the other medic on the shoulder. “I couldn’t have done this without your help, mon ami.”

“No need to thank me, my friend,” Pierre smiled. “I know we Red Guards and you Musketeers don’t usually get along, but I’m always happy to help out a fellow medic… and friend.”

“Alright gentlemen, we are not quite done yet,” the doctor interrupted. “We need to sanitize the sutured area, apply the salve and bandage; and we must wrap those ribs securely, so let’s finish up.”

Once finished, the medical team wiped their brows of sweat and gulped down the cups of cool water offered them. The nurses picked up all the bloody towels and cloths and threw them into a pile to wash later. They mopped up and cleaned away the blood from the floor and table as the men moved Athos to a nearby bed.

“Now we wait,” the doctor said as he squeezed Aramis on the shoulder.

“I’m going to sit with him for a while,” Aramis whispered quietly. He sat in a chair beside the bed then took Athos’s hand and squeezed it gently. “You _will_ pull through this,” he smoothed the hair from his friend’s brow. “Do you hear me Athos? I will never be able to live with myself if you don’t,” he wiped tears from his cheeks as he settled in for the long wait ahead.

*****

“I am so sorry,” Aramis wearily rubbed his thumb over Athos’s hand. The medic stared at his own shadow cast eerily on the wall as the flame on the burning candle danced. “You were right about everything—everything you said. The queen is too much of a temptation,” he paused, “and my willpower is too weak.”

“I should have listened to you but I didn’t want to hear what you had to say, though I knew all of it was true. If I had listened to you, Athos, you wouldn’t be lying here fighting for your life,” he whispered. “This is entirely my fault; no one else is to blame for what happened to you but me.”

“There is something that I’ve been contemplating since I was broken out of prison,” Aramis confessed. “While in jail, I had some time to think,” his voice cracked. “Maybe this happened to you because I made a promise to God and I broke part of that promise. In prison, I made a deal with God; I asked Him if He would spare the queen—and by some miracle, allow me to live as well—I vowed to devote all my remaining days to His Grace. I vowed to renounce all worldly temptations… even my duty.”

“Athos,” the medic’s breath hitched, “I broke my vow to renounce all worldly temptation. You’re lying here because… because I… dammit…” he cursed and hung his head in shame. “You’re here because I was making love to the queen. If we hadn’t been interrupted by the gunshot outside,” he stopped, too ashamed to finish. “I’m sorry,” he cried as he held tightly to the limp hand. 

“I broke a promise to you and, worse yet, to God,” he professed through his tears. “I have no excuse, Athos, other than I am weak. I don’t have the strength to withstand temptation to do wrong by the queen; the temptations are too great and I am simply not strong enough.” Aramis sat quietly as a question Athos asked during their argument repeated over and over in his mind.

“You asked if duty and honor meant anything to me anymore,” Aramis uttered after a long silence. “I guess that is one part of my promise I kept—I renounced my duty,” he sadly huffed. “While lost in a moment of temptation, I neglected my duty as a Musketeer to guard my post; I neglected my duty to defend my brother—while he was under attack—which makes it unforgivable in my mind. What have I become?”

“I have committed the worst of crimes as a soldier,” he shook his head with disgust in himself. “I abandoned my duty and I abandoned my brother; I was not there to watch your back. There is no viable excuse for what I have done. Oh God, Athos… I’m so sorry.” Aramis leaned over his friend and released the sobs he had held inside.

All the regret over his actions; all the guilt he harbored for breaking his promises to Athos and to God, released in a flood of tears. He allowed himself to cry over his friend until he had no more tears left. Aramis fought to catch his breath as his chest constricted from the sobs and his muscles ached from the hard crying.

“I’m going to make one last promise to you and to God,” Aramis sat up with resolve. “I swear on my life that I will not break this vow—not this time. I swear it, not this time.” He took a deep breath then closed his eyes to pray.

“God, if you would allow Athos to live, I promise that I will leave the Musketeers and fulfill my earlier vow to you,” he prayed. “I promise to devote my remaining days to Your Grace—serving you—however you see fit to use me. I will leave for the monastery as soon as Athos has recovered and there is no longer a shortage of manpower… or a need for me,” he looked upward, as though looking into the heavens. 

“I will keep this promise, I swear to you,” he looked back down at his friend. “On my life, I will go once Athos is well. I swear it.”

“I will not break another vow to you, no matter how hard it will be for me to go away and leave my brothers behind,” he finished speaking to God and returned his attention to his friend. 

“Athos, you started to ask me if my friends… if my friends mattered anymore? You, my brother, as well as Porthos and d’Artagnan, are everything to me, you know that,” he shook his head sadly. “Yet I put your life in danger because I was tempted with lust and I was derelict of my duty.”

“Leaving my brothers behind will be the hardest thing I have ever done,” Aramis wiped away the tears. “Believe me Athos, you are all better off without me. If you recover, I will go to the monastery and fulfill my vows. Please don’t ask me to stay with the Musketeers. This is a promise that I will not break—not again. So help me God.”

“Amen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Thoughts to Ponder:**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> I wrote a few words after chapter 5 of my thoughts- or hopes- of how things might have turned out after the boys rode to Douai to retrieve Aramis from the monastery. The reasons I give in chapter 5 are completely different than what I share here, so I will go ahead and voice my thoughts. The vows that Aramis made to God, both in prison and again here in this chapter, are very strong and heartfelt; I believe that Aramis had every intention of fulfilling all of these vows. I believe that Aramis is a man of his word and he would not go back on a promise, especially to God, but he is human... and we all make mistakes and we sometimes break promises.
> 
> However, you will notice that Aramis did say that he would serve God "however you see fit to use me." This is the perfect "allowance" that Aramis could use to return with his brothers _without_ breaking his vows- as long as they were riding for the border of Spain and off to war. God uses people in many ways, including being healers. Even if Aramis rejoined the regiment only as a non-combatant and was strictly their medic, his services to the regiment would be invaluable! One of the _most important_ people on the battlefield were, and still are, the medic/corpsman. It is the medic that may be the only reason why a soldier lives, whereas otherwise he would have died.
> 
> A medic always wished that he could duplicate himself because they were always needed in more than one place at a time- at the same time- but yet there was only one of him. No person's name was called out more... than that of the medic. My grandfather served as a medic in WWII and Korea; he saw a lot of suffering, despair and hurt... but he did what he could to save their lives. I'm proud of my grandfather having served as a medic; I'm sure he saved a lot of lives. I'd like to think that Aramis would also do the same!
> 
> What better way to "serve" God than by going with the regiment as they went to war and helping put broken bodies back together, saving lives that would otherwise perish? Aramis had both the **skill** and the **talent** to save lives... and what could be more fulfilling than that? Let's hope Aramis thought of this when Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan all appeared at the monastery to beg him to come back!
> 
> Thoughts, anyone? Reviews welcome!


	3. Palais du Louvre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _All for one, and one for all._ Their motto was the very definition of who they were as Musketeers; it was the creed they lived by. The ideology that theirs was a brotherhood and they never left a brother behind was well understood, dictating even their actions. Aramis would never leave Athos alone in a fight—unless he was fighting his own battle somewhere close by. Surely, Aramis was there to watch Athos’s back.

“I will ride to the garrison and inform your captain of what has happened here,” Pierre offered to Aramis as he sat at the bedside of the still-unconscious Athos. “I’m sure your captain will want to know what is going on.”

“Yes, he will,” Aramis replied with a sigh. “Thank you for doing this for me, Pierre, you are a true friend.”

“Not a problem at all,” Pierre ran a hand across his face. “I’d just as soon get away from the palace for a while anyway…” his voice trailed.

“Oh, Pierre?” Aramis called after the departing Guard. 

“Yes, Aramis?” Pierre paused in the hallway.

“Would you go to the queen’s apartment and tell her that she can come out of the secret room now—as per my orders, please? Tell her that she is _not_ to leave the apartment for any reason until the king arrives,” Aramis instructed Pierre before telling him where to find the secret panel to the hidden chamber.

“Yes, I will inform Her Majesty immediately,” Pierre nodded and went on his way.

~§~

Pierre knocked on the door of the queen’s apartment then opened the door slowly to peek inside. He looked around the room and was satisfied to find it empty. Closing the door, he went into the bedchamber to the wall with the tall, narrow panels, “now, which one did Aramis say was the secret door?” he asked himself aloud. “All these gold panels look the same to me,” he mumbled.

“Look for the peacock feather in gold leaf, Aramis said…” his voice trailed as he studied the intricate gold molding until he found the feather and pushed on it and the panel opened outward, just enough for his fingers to pull it open.

“Your Majesty?” Pierre called into the secret hallway. The hallway was narrow but quite long; at the end of the corridor, light streamed from a room off to the right. “Your Majesty?” the Red Guard called out once again and was relieved when he heard the voice of the queen in reply.

“I’m in here,” the queen said. Not expecting a Red Guard, she gasped with surprise at the sight of the unexpected visitor.

“Your Majesty, I apologize for startling you,” he bowed low. “I’m Pierre Géroux, I was sent here by Aramis…”

“Aramis!” the queen perked at the name. “I have been waiting for him to release me from the secret room; I’ve been in here for so many hours I’ve lost count. Where is Aramis, what happened? I heard gunshots…”

“Your Majesty,” Pierre took a deep breath, “Athos was shot in the chest; he is alive but he’s still unconscious. Aramis is sitting with him, and has been since his surgery. The poor man is so upset, he refuses to leave Athos’s bedside… which is why he sent me to see you.”

“Shot… surgery?” the queen gasped. “I heard the gunshots… Athos… no… God, no! Is he alright?”

“He was shot in the chest but it appears his ribs deflected the ball and spared his life; he made it through surgery and Doctor Bouvard thinks he should recover.”

“Oh, thank God,” the queen whispered as she swallowed hard. “And Aramis… how is he taking this?”

“Aramis is extremely distraught over what happened to Athos, Your Majesty, though I don’t see why—it’s not his fault the assailants attacked,” Pierre unknowingly replied. “I’m sure Aramis had his hands full trying to keep you and le Dauphin safe while the grounds were being stormed.”

“He did indeed,” the queen choked out.

“Aramis has a tendency to take unwarranted blame upon himself, and this is no different,” the guard frowned. “His job was to guard you and le Dauphin and I think he did his job admirably,” the guard looked around the hidden chamber, quite impressed. “He has no reason to feel responsible for what happened outside,” he shrugged. 

“Anyway, Aramis said that you can come out of the secret room, but you must _not_ leave the apartment for _any_ reason until the king returns—which should be soon.”

“Thank you, Monsieur Géroux,” the queen forced a smile. She turned to scoop the baby into her arms as she followed Pierre through the paneled door into her bedchamber.

“Your Majesty,” Pierre bowed. “I must go see Captain Tréville and inform him of what happened here. Remember, stay here and lock your door… do not leave… please.” He bowed once again and quickly left the apartment to ride toward the Musketeer garrison.

The queen fell onto the chaise longue with the baby cradled in her arms, “Oh God, poor Aramis. This is my fault… he tried to pull away and I wouldn’t let him,” she bit her lip as she frowned. “What have I done?”

“What do I tell the king?” she asked aloud. “He must never find out! I will tell the king that his son has not been feeling well; he is teething and we must have the physician call on him as soon as possible.”

“Oh Aramis, my love, I’m so sorry… what have we done? If Athos dies, I am partly to blame,” Anne’s eyes filled with tears. “For my son and for Aramis’s sake, no one must know… I will not speak a word of it to anyone. Aramis, I’m so sorry,” she hugged the baby as she began to cry.

The baby sensed his mother’s despair and started to cry also. She wrapped her arms around him and held the baby close as she broke down and sobbed; tears fell from her cheeks into the baby’s soft hair as her body trembled from the sobs. She leaned back against the chaise holding the baby close to her until mother and son cried themselves to sleep.

**Musketeer Garrison:**

Captain Tréville heard the sound of a galloping horse enter through the garrison gate and exited his office to see who it was. “Are the men back already?” he voiced his surprise out loud.

He looked down from the balcony and was surprised indeed when he saw a Red Guard dismounting from his horse. “What business have you here, Guard?” Tréville called down to Pierre.

“Captain Tréville?” Pierre looked up at the man standing on the balcony. “I am Pierre Géroux, of the Red Guards, sir,” he said. “I came to inform you that the palace was attacked a short while ago…”

“What?” Captain Tréville interrupted the guard. “Where are my men?”

“That is the other reason why I am here, sir,” he took a deep breath. “Aramis is currently with Athos but…”

“But what, Pierre?”

“Athos was shot in the chest and is in very serious condition, sir,” Pierre frowned. “We successfully retrieved the ball in surgery—and he still lives—but he’s quite serious.”

“Damn,” the captain cursed under his breath. “What of the queen?”

“Her Majesty is fine; as is le Dauphin,” Pierre answered.

“Thank God,” he breathed with relief. “Let us ride to the palace; you can tell me what happened on the way there,” Captain Tréville said as he rushed from the balcony.

**Palais du Louvre:**

The duo arrived at the Louvre palace grounds just as the king’s hunting caravan and escort rode through the gates. Captain Tréville rode his horse to the middle of the path, purposefully blocking the king’s carriage.

Porthos nudged d’Artagnan—as he was swaying and nearly falling asleep—on the arm then motioned with his head toward the captain blocking His Majesty’s carriage.

“Captain?” d’Artagnan sat up straight in the saddle and looked to Porthos then back at the captain in confusion.

“Why are we stopped?” the king’s voice could be heard from inside the carriage. “Why are we stopped?” the king repeated with his head out of the carriage window to see for himself. “Oh, Captain Tréville, what a surprise,” his smile lit up his face. “Though I am at a loss as to why you would block my carriage this close to home; I am thoroughly exhausted from my trip and am ready to lie down to rest.”

“Your Majesty,” the captain bowed forward in his saddle, “there has been an incident, Sire.”

“My God,” King Louis gasped. “My wife and son…?”

“Your Majesty, if I may?” Pierre bowed to the king before glancing at the captain for permission to recount the story. Tréville nodded once in agreement. 

“Your Majesty,” Pierre began, “Her Majesty and le Dauphin are quite well and safe, Sire, but the palace was attacked just a few hours ago and there were injuries.”

“Oh no,” the king was horrified at the news. “What happened, who was injured?”

“A few of my fellow Red Guards and…”

“And who?” the king asked impatiently.

“Athos of the Musketeers, Sire,” Pierre answered.

At the name, Porthos and d’Artagnan gasped, “Captain!” d’Artagnan exclaimed.

“Bloody hell,” Porthos growled under his breath.

“Captain, is Athos alright?” d’Artagnan asked, his eyes wide with shock.

“I haven’t seen him yet,” the captain answered.

“Where is my wife,” the king interrupted, “and my son?”

“Your Majesty, they are in the queen’s apartment in Aile Lescot,” Pierre answered.

Captain Tréville, take me there at once!” ordered the king. “I want to see my family.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Tréville bowed. “You men go check on Athos; I’ll be there when I can,” the captain ordered then turned his horse to lead the king’s carriage to Aile Lescot and the queen’s quarters.

“Take us to see our brothers,” Porthos ordered the Red Guard.

**Palais des Tuileries, Athos’s room:**

The Musketeers rushed into the room to find Aramis asleep beside Athos on the bed. The medic was sleeping on his side facing Athos with his right arm draped across the wounded man’s shoulders. Porthos and d’Artagnan fixed their gaze on Athos’s upper chest wrapped in bandages as they gasped in shock.

“Oh God, Athos,” d’Artagnan groaned with worry.

Aramis stirred at the sound of voices in the room. He opened his eyes to find d’Artagnan and Porthos standing by the bed, their eyes were wide with panic as they stared in shock. The medic blinked wearily in confusion until his brain registered that his friends were back from the hunting trip and had no knowledge of what happened to Athos. 

“Aramis?” Porthos sat down on the edge of the bed nearest to the medic. “‘Mis, what hap’ned?”

The medic sat up then looked over at Athos and sighed heavily. “The palace was attacked by a dozen or more raiders; most likely, it was a plot to harm the queen and le Dauphin,” he guessed.

“Where were the damned Red Guards?” Porthos growled? “There were more than a dozen Guards surrounding the palace!” he shouted. “How did the bloody attackers get close to Aile Lescot and the queen?”

“I don’t know, Porthos,” Aramis shook his head. His facial expression turned dark as a realization dawned, “they knew just where the queen and le Dauphin were staying…” his voice trailed.

“How could they know where the queen was staying when only those on the palace detail…” d’Artagnan stopped short. “You don’t think this was an inside job, do you?”

“I don’t know anything about it right now, d’Artagnan,” Aramis sighed. “It was just a thought that crossed my mind, that’s all.”

“If it was an inside job, not all of the Red Guards were in on it,” Porthos surmised. “Pierre said there were three guards who were wounded, two seriously. What in the hell happened out there, ‘Mis?”

“I… I don’t know… exactly,” he answered in a whisper.

“What do you mean, you don’t know _exactly?”_ d’Artagnan asked with his brow furrowed in confusion. “You were there with him, weren’t you?”

Aramis stared down at his hands, too ashamed to answer the question. He couldn’t even bring himself to look his friends in the eye.

Porthos and d’Artagnan exchanged anxious glances. Suddenly, a feeling of consternation overshadowed them—or were their minds just playing tricks?

_All for one, and one for all._ Their motto was the very definition of who they were as Musketeers; it was the creed they lived by. The ideology that theirs was a brotherhood and they never left a brother behind was well understood, dictating even their actions. Aramis would never leave Athos alone in a fight—unless he was fighting his own battle somewhere close by. Surely, Aramis was there to watch Athos’s back. 

“You _were_ there with him… weren’t you?” Porthos questioned. “‘Mis?”

Silence was the only answer Aramis gave them.

~§~

Athos heard muffled voices, though he couldn’t make sense of what they were saying. He wanted to call out to the voices but his tongue felt so thick he couldn’t speak. Suddenly, unimaginable waves of pain tore through him as nerve endings finally registered in his sluggish brain that something was terribly wrong.

Athos felt a burning pain in his chest, as though he had been stabbed and the knife twisted maliciously for the sake of torture. He took in a deep breath that brought on a whole new wave of pain; it slammed into his chest with such intensity the burn took his breath away. _Perhaps it would be better if I didn’t breathe at all._ Athos thought grimly.

His panicked eyes flew open. He tried to concentrate on breathing by focusing on the intricate plaster molding above him. Soon, his eyes betrayed him as the room started spinning wildly out of control and he had to close them again. “Sssiccckkk…” he moaned.

“Turn him, quick!” Aramis yelled as he pushed from behind and d’Artagnan pulled Athos forward to the edge of the bed. The men turned Athos in time for the Musketeer to empty his stomach on the floor, though it was all but water and bile.

Athos choked and gagged until nothing was left but painful dry heaves, robbing him of his remaining breath. The pain in his chest flared and, for a moment, he imagined this was how it felt to be burned at the stake. His hands curled around the blankets and squeezed until his knuckles whitened at the strain. Suddenly, his entire body went lax as he gratefully fell into blissful oblivion.

**Three Days Later:**

Athos peeled his eyes open and glanced frantically around the room. His eyes darted side to side in panic, as he searched.

“I’m right here, Athos,” Aramis called, taking his friend’s chin to turn his face toward him. “Porthos and d’Artagnan are here also; none of us have left your side since… well, we’ve been right here with you, brother.”

“Wwnngg…” he groaned and swallowed thickly. He soon felt himself being lifted slightly as a cup was put to his lips. He felt the coolness of the water pour over his lips and spill down his chin then onto the blanket.

“Let’s try that again, huh?” d’Artagnan smiled as he held the cup back up to his mentor’s lips. This time he waited until Athos parted his lips before he slowly allowed the water to pour into his open mouth. Athos drank the water until the cup was empty, then Aramis laid him gently back against the pillows.

“Why… does it… feel like I… have el’phant sit… sitting on my… chest?” Athos panted. “Hurss to breathe.”

“Athos, do you remember what happened?” Aramis asked as he softly ran his fingers over his friend’s hair to calm him.

“Shot…?”

“Yes, you were shot in the chest,” Aramis affirmed with a low voice. “Your lung was bruised, which is why it hurts to breathe; and you also have two broken ribs, so your chest is going to be rather sore for a while. For now, take only shallow breaths with no deep breaths, alright?” he frowned. 

“Athos, do you remember what happened out there?” d’Artagnan asked as he took Athos’s hand in his and squeezed. “How did you get shot? Did you see who shot you?”

Athos let his eyes slide closed as he suddenly felt very tired. “Alone…” he whispered softly just before his head lolled to the side and he fell asleep.

Porthos and d’Artagnan traded confused glances, not understanding what Athos meant. “What did he mean?” d’Artagnan asked, looking between Porthos and Aramis for an explanation. “Does he want us to leave him alone?”

“He can’t mean ‘at,” Porthos refused to believe Athos didn’t want his friends to be near him. “Why would Athos want us to leave ‘im alone?”

Aramis, on the other hand, knew full well what Athos meant. That one word hit him in the chest like a lightning bolt, piercing him straight through the heart. The Spaniard suppressed a sob bubbling up from the pit of his stomach. Though he tried to keep his composure and not give himself away, a strangled cry escaped nonetheless. He suddenly felt the need to run before he broke down in front of his friends. 

“I need some air,” Aramis rushed from the room, holding his fist to his mouth to keep the sob at bay until he was safely out of earshot. He needed to go someplace private where he could collapse to his knees and release the flood of tears that waited to fall.

“Aramis?” d’Artagnan called after him. “Porthos, what the…? Should we go after him?”

“No,” Porthos answered with a frown. He grimaced as he recognized his friend’s need to be left alone. “Somethin’ happened here—besides Athos gettin’ shot.” 

“You don’t think Athos wanted Aramis to leave him alone, do you?” d’Artagnan asked Porthos with widened eyes. His jaw dropped as he turned his attention back to Athos, “surely, he didn’t mean that. What is going on here?”

“Somethin’ bad is goin’ on with these two,” Porthos grumbled. “I wish we hadn’t been assigned to the king’s damn huntin’ trip,” the large Musketeer ground his fist in the palm of his other hand. “We should have been ‘ere at the palace with Athos and Aramis. Maybe… maybe if we had been here, we could ‘ave prevented the attack, leas’ kept Athos from gettin’ shot.”

“Whatever the hell happened while we were gone,” d’Artagnan said in a low voice, “we need to find out what it is. I have a feeling we’re not going to like it,” he frowned. 

“For some reason, I have a really bad feeling about this situation…” his voice trailed.

“That makes two of us, pup.” Porthos sighed as he gazed into the hallway where Aramis ran off just moments ago, “Aramis, what have you done?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yesterday a reviewer wondered about the queen and whether Aramis had forgotten about her during surgery… and afterward. Um, the answer to that is yes! But we can cut Aramis some slack here because he did have other things on his mind (Athos's surgery)… and that he just simply forgot about her! Besides, it's not that she was locked in a tiny closet with no room to move. Here are some interesting tidbits that I found on secret chambers/rooms and secret passages in castles and palaces.
> 
> In my last story, _The Greatest Legacy,_ I actually looked to see if there were any hidden passages out of the fortified city of Carcassonne but I could find no such record of any, though it would have been an awesome example. Anyway, some secret passages and secret rooms in medieval castles were designed to enable the inhabitants not only to escape from enemies unnoticed, but also to use long-term, such as during an enemy siege. Some castles even had secret passages leading down to an underground water source, providing access to water during a prolonged siege.
> 
> Secret passages/room often had hidden doors that were camouflaged into the wall such as with a fireplace; and sliding bookcases or "swinging" bookcases were especially popular, as were "false walls" made from wood paneling or stone. Some entrances were more elaborately concealed and could be opened only with a hidden mechanism or locking device, such as with a key. So, if the queen was locked in her "secret room" for many hours, I would like to think that in the Tuileries Palace, it would have had a secret chamber large enough to keep her comfortable for many hours.
> 
> At the Palace of Versailles, in the queen's Grand Apartment, the palace was invaded by rioters on 6 October 1789. Marie-Antoinette managed to escape through a little door hidden in the panels on the left side of her bed alcove, which went into a corridor that had access to the Queen's internal apartments-concealing a dozen small rooms reserved for her private life and her servants.


	4. Digging for the Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I need to know that you can trust me with even your darkest secrets because you believe in me. As your brother, you trusted me with your _life,_ so why would you not trust me with your problems? I would have gone to my grave with your secret if you had just told me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has references to season one, episode 9, _Knight Takes Queen,_ and the unresolved emotions from the hidden secrets. I also include references to season 2, episode 9, _The Accused._ Porthos, d'Artagnan and Tréville never had time to process the shocking news, since they weren't told of the affair until _The Accused._ Porthos wants to know why he was kept in the dark regarding the affair, while Tréville digs for the truth to what really happened before the attack. Lots of angst before we go into _Trial and Punishment _and Aramis saying goodbye tomorrow.__

**One Week Later, Palais des Tuileries:**

“You should have been with us out there in Chantilly on the hunting trip, Athos,” d’Artagnan huffed with amusement. “The king had his sights on a buck—a beautiful red deer—but the king’s assistant stepped on a twig…” the Gascon giggled at the memory.

“Anyway, the twig snapped and scared the buck away,” d’Artagnan burst out in giggles. He fell back on the bed, grabbing at his belly as it started to ache from the intensity of his laughter.

“It’s not that damn funny, whelp,” Porthos growled.

The grumbling from Porthos only made the Gascon laugh harder until tears streamed down his face. “Oh God, you should have seen his face!” he laughed.

“Alright, since d’Artagnan is unable to tell the story without dissolving into a fit of laughter, please do tell us what is so funny, Porthos,” Athos drawled.

“Nothing is funny,” Porthos grumbled.

_“Whew!”_ d’Artagnan breathed deeply, holding his index finger up for them to wait. “Anyway, the buck ran off and the king…” he giggled. He cleared his throat at the impatient scowl on Athos’s face. “The king threw a temper tantrum like I’ve never seen, well, maybe my five-year-old cousin when he didn’t get his way...”

“d’Artagnan, please,” Athos begged, trying to get the young Gascon back on track. 

“Yes, so the king threw his musket to the ground and it fired,” d’Artagnan snickered. “The next thing I knew, Porthos was doing some kind of wild dance, hopping around in circles and bouncing on one foot. I heard him grumbling over and over, ‘bloody hell, my boot; these were brand new boots!’” The Gascon burst into a new round of laughter.

“You were shot?” Aramis asked with wide-eyes. “Where… how bad?”

“I told ya it wasn’t funny!” Porthos griped as he glared at the youngest Musketeer.

“On his left leg… through the side of his boot,” the Gascon snickered.

“Let me see,” Aramis asked as he leaned over to get a look at Porthos’s leg, but the large Musketeer wasn’t budging.

“Let us see it,” Athos ordered as he tried to hide the grin spreading across his face.

Porthos let out a low growl then turned to bring his leg up onto the bed beside Athos. He put his finger through a perfect round hole on the outer part of his boot, about halfway up his shin. “Now, I’ve go’ to get ‘nother pair of new boots… no thanks to the king’s temper tantrum.”

“You’re lucky he didn’t shoot you _through_ your leg, Porthos,” Aramis said, grimly. “If that ball had hit your bone…”

“Aramis,” a voice called from the doorway startling the group. “May I have a word with you, please,” Captain Tréville stepped back into the hallway to wait for the medic.

Silent glances of alarm were exchanged between the four men as each recognized the captain’s stern tone. Aramis’s eyes went wide with sudden dread as he glanced up at the captain waiting in the hall. He swallowed hard, though he tried to hide his worry from the others. 

The medic got up from the bed and left without saying a word. Inside the room, the remaining three brothers could hear the captain tell Aramis to follow him.

“What was that all about?” d’Artagnan asked Athos. 

Athos started to scoot himself down under the covers but stopped as a wave of pain caused him to wince with a sharp breath through his teeth. “Damn…” he gasped and grimaced, closing his eyes tightly against the pain.

“Athos!” d’Artagnan jumped up to assist his mentor.

“Dammit, Athos, why didn’t you ask for help?” Porthos growled as he and d’Artagnan helped their brother move down the bed until he was lying flat, but for his head which rested against a fluffy pillow.

The wounded Musketeer clamped his eyes shut as he breathed, trying to ride out the pain constricting his chest. “I’m alright,” he squeaked.

“Rubbish, you’re not,” Porthos shook his head. “We know when you’re hurtin’ and we know ‘at your tryin’ to avoid us after the cap’n came to get Aramis, he scowled. “Now what’s goin’ on?”

“You’ll have to ask Aramis,” Athos answered dryly. “Right now, ‘m tired,” he mumbled. He closed his eyes and soon his breaths evened out as he fell into a fitful sleep.

“Is anyone ever going to tell us what is going on?” d’Artagnan threw up his hands in exasperation.

“I don’t know,” Porthos gave a throaty growl, “but I aim to find out—one way or another.”

**Outside in Courtyard:**

Captain Tréville led Aramis outside, away from the building so they would not be heard. Finally he stopped and turned to face Aramis, “alright, tell me what happened,” the captain ordered. “I want to hear your version—start talking.”

“Captain, I…” Aramis protested.

“Start talking,” the captain insisted.

“I already told you, sir,” he sighed as he ran a hand through his hair. “Le Dauphin was crying so I knocked on the door to see if there was anything that I could do,” he began. “The queen said that the baby was teething and asked if I could help her. I first asked if she had any brandy—she did—so I set the baby on my lap, then dipped the cloth in some brandy and rubbed it softly over his gums until he stopped crying.”

How long was it before the baby stopped crying?” the captain quizzed. 

“I don’t know, Captain,” Aramis answered incredulously. “Until he stopped crying,” he repeated. “It was a while; the baby was fevered and he wasn’t feeling very well.”

“Why wasn’t Athos guarding the apartment in the hallway then?” Tréville pressed further. “Why was Athos patrolling downstairs by himself, alone?”

Aramis felt like he couldn’t breathe as his throat constricted. The medic dropped his eyes to look at his feet and swallowed hard. “We had an argument, sir.”

“An argument?” Captain Tréville repeated with disbelief. “What were you two arguing about?” his voice grew louder.

“We were arguing about what happened…” Aramis hesitated. “What happened with the queen at the convent,” he answered.

“Why?”

“Because Athos didn’t trust my judgement around the queen,” Aramis replied in a whisper.

“And why should he, Aramis?” the captain whispered harshly. “You destroyed the trust we had in you with your treasonous act, making it rather hard to ever fully trust in you again with regard to the queen.”

“Sir, I’ve kept my distance from the queen since that night in the convent—except when duty has required me to be near her,” Aramis defended himself.

Captain Tréville was quiet for a moment as he shook his head, holding his chin. “The queen has corroborated your story, almost word-for-word. The king’s physician has also confirmed that le Dauphin is running a fever as a result of teething. However, I believe that there is more to this story than you’re telling,” he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Captain, I…,” Aramis was indignant, though he decided not to argue with the captain.

“If I find out that you have deceived me—and that includes anything you’re _not_ telling me—you are out of my regiment.” Tréville stepped close until their noses almost touched, “do I make myself clear?”

“Yes sir,” Aramis replied with a hard swallow.

**Later, Athos’s Room:**

“Athos, there is something I need to ask you,” Captain Tréville sat in the chair beside Athos’s bed. “I would appreciate that you answer me truthfully.” 

“Captain, I am always forthright with you,” Athos was stunned that the captain would insinuate otherwise.

“Yes, you have always been,” Tréville agreed. “However, I need to be sure that you will answer me honestly when I ask you this,” the captain sighed deeply.

“Ask me what, Captain?”

“Why were you patrolling outside alone?” the captain asked, staring intently at his lieutenant. “Where was Aramis?”

“Sir?”

“Just answer the questions, Athos,” Tréville said impatiently.

“I was patrolling outside because…” he hesitated, “I left my post, sir. I went downstairs and left Aramis at the queen’s apartment alone,” he answered cryptically.

“Why, Athos?” Tréville’s ire grew. “Why would you leave your post?”

“We had an argument, sir,” Athos relented in a whisper.

“An argument,” the captain nodded, relieved Athos’s revelation matched the medic’s. “An argument over what?”

“Nothing of importance, sir.”

“Do not insult my intelligence, Athos,” Tréville deadpanned. “Answer my question.”

Athos remained quiet for some time as he contemplated whether he should reveal the entire reason for the argument. If he told of Aramis’s stubbornness regarding the queen and his refusal to distance himself from her, he could quite possibly hurt Aramis by doing so; or he could simply disobey the captain by refusing to answer the question… and face disciplinary charges.

“Son, I’m waiting for an answer,” Tréville said with a cross tone.

“We… argued over what happened the night at the convent,” Athos finally answered. “I told Aramis that he needed to keep his distance from the queen and the baby,” he sighed. “I also told him that le Dauphin was not his son and could never be.”

“Why did you leave your post?”

“He didn’t like the part about le Dauphin not being his son,” he looked the captain in the eye. “He is having difficulty accepting the fact that he can never be a part of Louis’s life,” he blew out a long breath. “I know it must be hard on Aramis, but he has to accept it as fact. He wasn’t listening to me and I didn’t want to say something I would later regret, so I left.”

“How long were you downstairs alone?”

“Captain, I have no idea,” Athos replied with exasperation. “I wandered the halls for some time, then sat on the stairs replaying our argument over and over in my head,” he motioned his hand in circles. “I lost track of time; I don’t _know_ how long I was downstairs, sir,” he answered gruffly.

“Alright, Athos,” the captain relented. He sat for a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose as his brow creased. “I believe you and I believe Aramis—your stories match with that of the queen,” Tréville said finally. “However, somebody is withholding the truth in its entirety.”

“Sir…” Athos objected but was stopped with the captain’s raised hand.

“Let me finish,” the captain insisted. “It’s not what you two are saying; it’s what you are _not_ saying that alarms me. It is the tension between you two when Porthos and d’Artagnan ask questions,” Tréville explained. “It’s the downcast eyes while avoiding the subject—you both are doing it—so I know somebody is hiding something. When I was with the king, I couldn't help but notice the queen's nervous demeanor when he asked her what happened; she seemed on edge and tense. There was a look of fear in her eyes, as though she was hiding something unimaginable from the king and feared his knowledge of it."

“Captain, I have told you everything that happened—truthfully, sir.” Athos propped himself up on his elbows, “And Aramis is not a liar.”

“Indeed, Aramis is not a liar and I have never had any reason to doubt him. However, he may not be disclosing everything truthfully,” the captain countered. “Aramis has an obligation—a duty—to follow orders as given to him by either myself or His Majesty.” 

“Captain, he knows that, sir.” 

“Aramis is guilty of having committed treason once; he is guilty of dereliction of duty once… I will not forgive it a second time,” Captain Tréville stood before continuing. “I will not stand for his insubordination regarding the queen one more time,” he said in a low voice. “If I find out that his actions with the queen were anything but pertaining to his duty, Aramis is out of my regiment.” Tréville turned on his heel and left the room as Athos fell back against his pillows, stunned at the captain’s words.

~§~

Porthos walked into the room after having passed by Captain Tréville in the hallway. The captain said nothing as he passed by and, judging from his dour facial expression, Porthos was relieved he had continued on his way.

“Athos?” the large Musketeer asked as he saw the lieutenant staring absently at the ceiling. “Wha’ just hap’ned in here?”

“Nothing, Porthos,” Athos groaned, not in the mood for another round of questioning.

“Dammit, Athos, I am gettin’ tired of everyone tellin’ me nothin’ is wrong, when clearly somethin’ is _very_ wrong between you two!” Porthos burst out irately.

“Porthos, nothing is wrong between us.”

“Am I not both yours and Aramis’s brother?” Porthos asked in a soft voice.

“What?” Athos was stunned—for the second time in a matter of minutes. “Of course you are, Porthos,” he replied sincerely, though confused. “Why would you ask such a thing?”

“Because… you and Aramis… you haven’t been treatin’ me as a brother should be treated,” the large Musketeer frowned. “I’ve felt more like an outsider this past year than a brother.”

“Porthos, what are you…?”

“Why did you and Aramis not trust in me enough to confide in me… about… that night?” his voice tapered off.

Athos raised his eyebrows at the realization of Porthos’s hurt feelings. “Aw, Porthos, it’s not that we didn’t trust you—that had nothing to do with it—we wanted to protect you.” 

“Protect me by deceiving me?” he asked brusquely.

“When the queen announced her pregnancy, it didn’t take a genius to count back to when the queen was with us at the convent. Rochefort is no fool; he figured things out on his own and was determined to destroy all those involved in this treasonous conspiracy. We wanted to protect you,” Athos sighed heavily, “in the event that Rochefort started asking questions.”

“I am your brother,” Porthos hung his head and shook it. “I would gladly lie for both of you, if it was necessary.”

“We also didn’t want you to get hurt—or worse—because of Aramis’s secret,” Athos added. “We could have been hung for treason.”

“Then I would have hung beside you both,” Porthos stated adamantly. “I would have chosen to die with my brothers… but you and Aramis made that decision _for_ me because you didn’t trust me.”

“Porthos, it wasn’t that we didn’t...”

“Rubbish, I don’t care what excuse you use, Athos, to justify keepin’ me in the dark all those months,” Porthos charged. “I saw it as a lack of trust… from both of you.”

“Porthos, I’m sorry,” Athos whispered softly.

“Imagine how _you_ would feel if you found out that two people you loved as brothers had kept such a damning secret hidden from you for a year. How would you feel?” Porthos asked. 

“I would feel,” Athos let out a long breath, “just as you do,” he admitted.

“You and me and ‘Mis, I thought we were closer than brothers,” he huffed. “We were the _Inseparables,_ remember?” he ran a hand through his hair. “You and Aramis left me out,” he bit his lip, “you didn’t include me in this secret. I’ve known ‘Mis longer than you… but you knew.”

“I only knew because I caught them in bed together,” Athos hissed. “Otherwise, do you honestly think Aramis would have divulged to me the following morning that he had slept with the queen?”

“Hmm, no… guess not,” Porthos confessed.

“Porthos, we weren’t trying to exclude you,” Athos sighed, “but we were dealing with an act of treason—which if proven true—could have had us executed. Aw, Porthos, we didn’t want to get you involved in all that turmoil.”

“So why were you alone downstairs?” Porthos boldly asked, since Athos was talking freely.

“Aramis and I had an argument about that night,” Athos conceded for the second time in the last hour. “We argued about le Dauphin and about the queen—we argued about him staying away from _both_ of them.”

“Let me guess, he didn’t take it too well?”

“No, he became defensive,” Athos huffed. “The walls went up instantly and he wouldn’t listen to reason. I left before I said something I would later regret,” Athos closed his eyes. 

“After your argument, you left him alone with the queen?”

“Oh, come on Porthos,” Athos tried to sit up but was overcome with a stabbing pain in right side. He fell over onto his left side with his hand sweeping over the table, causing a glass to fall to the floor and shatter. “Oh God…”

“Athos, what’s wrong?” Porthos jumped to his side immediately, placing a hand on his shoulder. “What can I do? Athos?”

“I’m fine,” he panted heavily. “I just need a minute,” he grimaced with pain. “I think… I pinched my side,” he rasped. “Damn,” he clenched his eyes tightly closed as beads of sweat started popping across his brow.

“‘Ere, let me help you get set’led back,” Porthos carefully lifted Athos, eliciting a muffled scream from the older Musketeer. Doctor Bouvard rushed into the room to assist the Musketeer in rolling Athos back against the pillows. 

“I will examine him,” the doctor assured Porthos. “He should be alright, but he needs some time alone to rest.”

“I didn’t mean to upset him…” 

“You didn’t… upset me,” Athos’s chest heaved as he panted heavily. “Just tired…”

“I’ll be back later, brother.” Porthos squeezed Athos gently on the shoulder. “I’m goin’ to find ‘Mis… I ‘ave some words for him ‘at are long overdue.”

~§~

Porthos bounded down the stairs of the palace just in time to see Aramis coming up. The large Musketeer grabbed the medic by the arm to turn him around, “come on, we’ve got to talk.”

“There’s nothing to talk about, Porthos,” Aramis protested as he tried to free his arm from the tight grip but could not. He let himself be led into the courtyard to a private area where they could speak freely when Porthos finally let him go.

“Don’t give me any of ‘at rubbish,” Porthos whispered harshly. “I know you and Athos had an argument ‘bout the queen and ‘at’s why he left you alone up there.”

“How do you know about that?” Aramis hissed through clenched teeth.

“Because Athos just told me,” Porthos revealed. “I am tired of being kept in the dark and I’m tired of all these bloody secrets,” he growled. “I’m tired of you not trustin’ in me, ‘Mis… I thought we were brothers.”

“We _are_ brothers,” Aramis snapped, “but there are just some things that are too… personal to share.”

“Like the fact you slept with the queen,” Porthos growled. “Despite all those times I warned ya to set your sights lower and find someone less dangerous but you preferred the challenge. But the queen… this was something even _you_ should have run away from.”

“Run from love?” Aramis said dryly.

“Aw, rubbish,” Porthos huffed angrily. “You and the queen, do you really think it’s about love, ‘Mis? She’s miserable and lonely, we all know ‘at, but she’s married to King Louis and there is _nothing_ you can do to change ‘at.”

“I can give her what the king cannot…”

Porthos laughed at the comment. “You can give the queen what? Love?” he scoffed. “A baby, perhaps?”

“You are way out of line, Porthos!” Aramis seethed with anger.

“Am I?” Porthos clenched his fists. “Do you really think the queen loves you, or is she just using you to get what she can’t get from the king?”

Aramis suddenly punched Porthos in the jaw, turning him back slightly on his feet. The large Musketeer then grabbed Aramis by the collar to spin him around and roughly pin him against the stone wall of the palace. 

“You don’t want to face the possibility ‘at the queen may be using you,” Porthos paused, “but look at the facts. The queen’s been comin’ on to you since you saved her life, back when Vadim tried killin’ her and the king—don’t think I haven’t noticed. She gave you that necklace…”

“Nothing you said proves that she’s using me, Porthos!” Aramis was incredulous. “It just proves that the queen was very grateful and….”

“Save it, ‘Mis,” Porthos shoved him against the wall again. “She’s the one who came on to you at the convent, am I right? The queen made the first move,” his eyes narrowed. “I wasn’t there and I know I’m right! Do you still think she’s not using you?”

Aramis smacked Porthos’s hands off his doublet to free himself. “If she was using me to find love, then so be it,” Aramis replied stoically. “We’re both miserable with relationships and unable to find true love. What’s wrong with comforting and loving a woman who was hurting the same as I?”

“What’s wrong wit’ it?” Porthos burst into crazed laughter. “Are you daft?” he asked as he pushed Aramis against the wall again. “She’s married to the king, ‘at’s what wrong wit' it! Her husband can have you killed just by sayin’ the word, Aramis. She’s too dangerous—I’ve told you ‘at.”

“Her love made it worth the risk… that night.”

“‘At’s rubbish, Aramis! Was the risk worth gettin’ yourself almost killed? Was it worth Constance almost getting beheaded… or the queen almost gettin’ killed by Rochefort?” Porthos got right up in Aramis’s face. “What about Athos? Whatever went on 'tween you and the queen... was it worth Athos gettin' shot?"

“I never meant for it to go beyond that one night,” Aramis whispered softly. “I never thought we would be found out, but when she told me that she was with child…”

“How do you know it’s yours, ‘Mis?” Porthos asked. “Was she not with her husband at all before or after she went to the convent? Maybe she told you the baby was yours because ‘at’s what she wanted.”

Aramis looked at him sharply, “you don’t know anything about her, Porthos,” Aramis hissed. “You don’t know the kind of woman she is.”

“Apparently, I don’t really know you either,” Porthos countered. “How many secrets are you keepin’ from me, ‘Mis? I love you, brother, but after learnin’ you hid your affair with the queen from me all those months…”

“We did it to protect you, dammit!” Aramis snapped. “How many times do I have to explain it?”

“I don’t _need_ your protection,” he smacked the wall behind Aramis’s head with his palm. “I need your trust, ‘Mis. I need to know that you can trust me with even your darkest secrets because you believe in me. As your brother, you trusted me with your _life,_ so why would you not trust me with your problems? I would have gone to my grave with your secret if you had just told me,” his eyes misted. “Instead you hid it from me until you and Athos had no choice but to spill it, no thanks to Rochefort.”

“I’m sorry, Porthos.”

“You’re sorry?” Porthos turned around to stare across the courtyard. “Growin’ up in the Court, I could trust no one,” he scowled. “When I became a Musketeer, I learned I had brothers ‘at I could trust… and they could trust me. I thought you trusted me,” he said as he turned around to face Aramis.

“I do trust you, Porthos,” his voice cracked. “It wasn’t about trust… I was ashamed. I knew what I was doing was wrong—but I loved every minute of it. God, how could I be so weak?” he hung his head low. “I never meant for my friends to get hurt because of my weakness.” 

“I felt hurt because you kept me in the dark like a damn fool,” Porthos shook his head at the memory. “I was shocked when I learned the truth… and not even from your own admission. After Athos told everyone what happened and I hugged you… do you remember ‘at?” 

“Yes, I… I couldn’t understand why,” he wiped away a tear. “I couldn’t understand why you would hug me after that.”

“I hugged you because… it was either I hugged you or I was goin’ to knock you flat out on your arse,” he scowled.

“I’m so sorry, brother.”

“We’re brothers,” Porthos placed his hand on Aramis’s shoulder and squeezed. “Brothers don’t keep secrets, Aramis, ‘specially not us. Open your eyes and look at all the hurt your secret affair with the queen has caused—ask yourself if it was worth it.” 

“I already have, Porthos,” he took in a shaky breath. “The answer to your question is no,” Aramis confessed as he broke down into heart rending sobs. “I’m so sorry,” he cried as he started to collapse to the ground. 

Porthos pulled him into a tight hug and held him upright as he consoled his friend. Suddenly, the bitterness and anger inside the large man disappeared as he supported his stricken friend and shared with his tears of pain and regret. Together, they let their concoction of emotions flow out until the tears dried up and no longer fell.


	5. Saying Goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Are we just going to let him go?” Porthos asked with utter disbelief.
> 
> “No, Athos paused as he stared into Aramis’s resolute eyes, “he’s letting us go.” The brothers affirmed their grip one last time then then dropped hands as Aramis turned away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: The ending of this chapter is exactly as you would see it end in _Trial and Punishment,_ word for word. I do not own the Musketeers- but BBC does, and I hope that I didn't break any infringement laws.

**Musketeer Garrison, Some Time Later:**

“Ah, it’s good to be home,” Athos said as he sat down on his bunk. “The palace staff was more than accommodating and Doctor Bouvard took excellent care of me; but there’s nothing like the dusty ground with the din of activity around the garrison that makes me feel more at home.”

“Welcome home, Athos,” the three friends echoed together as they raised their cups of ale in a toast to their recovered brother.

After drinks, laughter and talking for over an hour, Athos’s eyes began to droop. 

“Looks like we’ve overstayed our welcome,” Porthos nudged d’Artagnan on the arm. “Somebody’s tired and needs his beauty rest before we return to the palace again tomorrow for the king and queen.”

“I do not want to go back there,” Athos mumbled tiredly. “I’ve seen enough of the palace to last a while.”

"Unfortunately, we don't have a choice, Athos," Aramis reminded him with a grin. "His Majesty needs his Musketeers present—if for nothing more than to make himself appear more regal. After all, as Musketeers, we should consider it an honor to be in his very presence," he added in jest. "There will be no complaining from you; you've been absent too long to start the complaints already."

“Well, it’s too early to go to bed just yet,” Porthos grumbled. “Whadya say, pup, let’s go to the Wren and have a few more drinks—it’ll help us sleep better.”

d’Artagnan huffed with amusement at Porthos’s suggestion for preparing for tomorrow’s event. “Alright, let’s go then,” he smiled.

“You comin’ ‘Mis?” Porthos called at the door.

“I’ll be along later,” Aramis replied over his shoulder, “I’m going to make sure Athos is alright.”

“I don’t need a nursemaid,” Athos growled.

“Yes, I know you don’t,” Aramis motioned with his head for Porthos and d’Artagnan to go on to the Wren without him. He waited for the door to close before he helped Athos pull off his boots and doublet. The medic then helped the sleepy man settle back against the pillows, keeping him propped up so they could talk.

“Porthos and d’Artagnan are the ones who had your doublet repaired,” Aramis smiled. “We couldn’t have you show up to this event at the palace tomorrow with a hole in your…” Aramis closed his eyes as images of Athos lying on the ground with his doublet covered in blood flashed through his mind.

“Why wasn’t this mentioned sooner?” Athos picked up the leather garment to examine the repairs. “I should have thanked them… I didn’t even notice.”

“Believe me, they understand,” Aramis smiled as he took the doublet and draped it over the back of a chair. “Besides, you can thank them later,” he stood by the chair and let out a deep sigh. 

“What’s wrong, Aramis?” Athos frowned as he watched his friend’s nervous body language. 

“Athos, I’ve had a lot of time to think while you recovered from your gunshot wound,” Aramis pulled the chair beside the bed and sat down, wringing his hands nervously. “There is something I have to tell you.”

“What is it, ‘Mis?”

Aramis sighed heavily, “damn, I never thought I would be telling you this.”

“Telling me, what?” Athos sat up straighter on the bed, his gut rolled with a sudden sense of dread.

“When I was in prison—when I thought I was going to be executed—I made a vow to God,” Aramis paused and took a deep breath. “I vowed that if God spared the queen, and if by some miracle I also lived, that I would devote my remaining days to His service; I vowed that I would renounce all worldly temptations… even my duty.”

“Aramis, you do not mean that,” Athos said with a low voice, alarmed at the confession.

“Well, I did—at the time,” Aramis whispered. “I had every intention of carrying out my vows immediately but we were so busy, I didn’t want to leave Captain Tréville short-handed. Then we got that assignment at the palace guarding the queen and le Dauphin…”

“Aramis,” Athos began to protest.

“I should have left right then,” Aramis shook his head. “I should have turned in my resignation to the captain and walked away when I made that vow,” his jaw clenched. “If I had, you never would have been shot.”

“‘Mis, you don’t know that,” Athos sat upright. “Besides, if you were worried about leaving us short-handed, we certainly would have been if you had walked away then,” he reminded. “I couldn’t have guarded the queen by myself.”

“No, but you did guard against the attack of the palace by yourself,” Aramis whispered.

“You were busy with le Dauphin,” Athos waved off concern, “I do not fault you for that.”

“No, you’re wrong,” Aramis whispered so quietly, Athos barely heard. “After I got the baby to calm and go to sleep,” he swallowed hard, “I… I kissed… the queen.”

“Aramis,” Athos groaned a low warning.

“The next thing I knew,” Aramis wrung his hands, “we were… both… undressed…”

“Oh God, no…” 

“Just as we… started… you know… we were interrupted by a gunshot outside,” Aramis’s voice cracked. He sighed as he let his head hang in shame.

“Dammit, Aramis, what have you done?” Athos stood to leave, striding angrily toward the door but was overcome with a dizzy spell, accompanied by a pang in his side. He slid down the wall by the door, grimacing in pain.

“Madre de Dios, Athos,” Aramis swore. “Talk to me, what’s wrong?” he grasped Athos gently by the shoulders and cupped a hand under his chin to bring his face up, “tell me what’s wrong!”

“Tell you… tell you what’s… wrong?” Athos let out a maniacal snicker. “You mean to tell me that while I was fighting those bandits,” his voice cracked, “that you and the queen were… were in bed together?” He closed his eyes to hold in the hot tears threatening to fall, though one escaped anyway and rolled down his cheek.

“Oh God, Athos, I’m so sorry,” he said as he wiped away the tear. “I never meant for this to happen again,” his breath hitched as a sob started to rise from his chest. “I never meant to hurt you, Athos. If only I had known you would be shot—almost killed—on account of me.”

“How could you?” Athos blurted. “How could you do that again, after everything we argued about just _moments_ before I went downstairs?” Athos leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes.

“I have no excuse…”

“Did you do it just to spite me?” Athos snarled. “Is that it, Aramis? No one is going to tell you _who_ to love, or who _not_ to love? You’re going to do whatever the hell you want, regardless of who gets hurt!” Athos used the wall to support himself as he tried to stand.

“Athos, no… I didn’t do it to spite you,” Aramis pulled Athos back down to the floor. “I didn’t set out to do it at all. I just… I just… dammit, I couldn’t stop myself. I _knew_ what I was doing was wrong but… I just couldn’t stop myself,” he wiped away his tears.

“That’s your excuse?” Athos spat. “You couldn’t stop yourself? You’re a bloody Musketeer, Aramis!” he yelled. “You have a _duty_ to the king—who happens to be your secret lover’s husband!” Athos stood to his feet, slapping away Aramis’s hands. “I thought after I caught you in bed with the queen at the convent, that it was a one-time mistake; we’ll just sweep it under the rug and forget it happened. But then you got word she was expecting, and your infatuation started all over again.”

“She was carrying my child…”

“You don’t know that for certain,” Athos hissed, “but it _is_ what she wanted you to believe.”

“Athos, I’m not condoning what I did or trying to make excuses,” Aramis pleaded. 

Athos turned to reach for the door but Aramis stopped him with a hand gripped on his shoulder, “Athos, talk to me.” 

"I cannot believe you!" Athos suddenly grabbed Aramis by the collar and slammed him against the wall. "I cannot believe you did that," he pulled the medic forward to slam him against the wall again, "and right after what we just argued about! Dammit, on my life, I cannot believe you," he slammed him against the wall once again as he let go of the collar. "I just... I can't… Aramis, how _could_ you?"

“Athos, I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” Athos huffed with disgust. “Sorry that you betrayed your brothers again? Sorry that you lied to me… and to the captain? Sorry that I got shot and interrupted your lovemaking?”

“Merde, Athos… I’m so sorry,” Aramis burst into tears and slid down the wall, sobbing as Athos followed him to the floor. “I never meant… for you… to get hurt. Athos, I’m so… sorry,” he gasped between sobs.

"Did you not hear me when I said to think _before_ you act and to walk away if you were tempted?" Athos grasped firmly onto Aramis's shoulders. "Were you not listening to me?" he shook his friend. "I asked you how many people had to get hurt...?"

"I know... and I'm sorry," Aramis hung his head.

"I also said the next time you might not get the chance to say you're sorry, remember?"

"It was so damn close... I just wanted another chance to say I was sorry," Aramis cried. "God, how could I have been so blind? You were almost killed... and it was my fault," Aramis buried his face in his hands and sobbed. 

"Come here," Athos pulled Aramis into his arms and held him as they both cried, each filled with regret that this ever happened. A flood of emotions washed from them in a shower of tears as they clung to each other, until finally, their sobs ceased and gasps for breath slowed. Athos continued holding his friend until he was certain he could let go and allow Aramis to compose himself.

“Where do we go from here, Aramis?” Athos finally whispered.

"The queen is too much of a temptation for me," he replied quietly. "At last, I've learned you were right—that my willpower is too weak," Aramis wiped his face dry. "I must put some distance between myself and the queen."

“Aramis, what are you saying?”

“Athos, my weakness almost got you killed,” Aramis shook his head. “God, what would I have done if you had died?” his voice cracked. “The guilt… I could not have lived with the guilt.”

“I didn’t die, ‘Mis,” Athos squeezed his friend’s shoulder.

“No, you didn’t die,” Aramis agreed, “but it was so close. Athos, this is my fault. You tried to warn me, but I refused to listen,” his eyes filled with fresh tears.

“What’s done is done, brother,” Athos said resolutely. “It’s over; I’ve already forgiven you.”

“No, you cannot forgive me that easily,” Aramis shook his head. “Not when I cannot even forgive myself.” 

“Yes I can,” Athos nodded. “That’s what brothers do,” he whispered in a quiet voice. “All for one, remember?”

“Not this time, Athos,” Aramis shook his head and scoot back away from Athos. “I made another promise to God after you were shot. I swore that if God allowed you to live, then I would fulfill my earlier vow to renounce all worldly temptations… even my duty… and live my remaining days serving Him.”

“Aramis, you don’t have to do this…”

“I broke all of my promises but one,” Aramis cried as he clenched his fists, trying not to lose control again. “I kept my promise about renouncing my duty—that wasn’t too hard,” he huffed angrily. “I gave in to my temptation and allowed you to fight those bandits alone. I allowed you to get shot!”

“Aramis, you didn’t know those bandits were out there,” Athos reasoned.

“Doesn’t matter, Athos,” Aramis shook his head. “What I did was wrong and I know that—I _knew_ that—but I did it anyway. Besides, I made a promise to God and, this time, I intend to keep it.”

“What of our duty at the palace tomorrow?”

“I will go and fulfill my duty until the event is over… and then I will leave.”

“What about Porthos and d’Artagnan?” Athos frowned, knowing the pain this news would bring them. “When do you plan to tell them?” 

“I will tell them tomorrow, after we’re released,” Aramis sighed. “I don’t want anyone else distracted while on duty; it’ll be hard enough on me… knowing what I have to do after the event.”

“What about the captain?” Athos asked as he stared into Aramis’s eyes. “How are you going to tell him?” 

“He already knows I’m resigning,” Aramis whispered. “I told him just after we arrived back from the palace.”

“What am I going to do without you, ‘Mis?”

“Worry less,” he smiled.

**Palais du Louvre, Next Day:**

The four brothers walked away from the palace when Aramis paused and lagged behind. He stopped as a look of dread flashed across his face, “I need to tell you all something.”

d’Artagnan turned around to face Aramis as Porthos glanced over his shoulder, each with quizzical looks on their faces. Athos was the last to turn around.

Aramis faced the group of three brothers and shuffled on his feet, searching for the right words. He put one hand on his hip and the other on the hilt of his sword just to have something to hang onto.

“I’m resigning my commission and retiring at the monastery in Douai,” he said.

Porthos was stunned as he glanced at Athos, “he’s gonna become a monk?”

Aramis shuffled nervously on his feet once again before he admitted, “I made a vow to God and I have to honor it. If I told you sooner, you would have tried to talk me out of it.”

“We’re still going to,” d’Artagnan blurted with a disappointed frown.

Porthos stared at the ground as he shook his head sadly. “Is this really what you want?”

“With all my heart,” Aramis said as he glanced at his three friends.

“Farewell then, old friend,” Athos stepped forward and offered his hand. Aramis clasped onto the hand and pulled them together in a close hug. The lieutenant pulled back but still held onto his friend’s hand as he watched him closely.

“Are we just going to let him go?” Porthos asked with utter disbelief.

“No, Athos paused as he stared into Aramis’s resolute eyes, “he’s letting us go.” The brothers affirmed their grip one last time then then dropped hands as Aramis turned away.

d’Artagnan rushed over and fell into Aramis’s arms with a tight hug. The medic clapped the Gascon on the back as the younger Musketeer held onto his friend for a moment. He blinked back emotion as he pulled away. “You’ll be missed,” he said as he looked into Aramis’s face.

“Take care of Constance,” Aramis said as he patted d’Artagnan lightly on the chest.

“Of course,” d’Artagnan smiled.

Porthos reluctantly stepped forward, all the while frowning at his friend. The look of disappointment and hurt was very evident on the large man’s face and it caused Aramis’s heart to break, though he did not show it. 

Porthos didn’t say a word as he leaned in to give Aramis a hug. The medic clapped his friend on the back before they finally pulled apart, still not having said a word. The large Musketeer looked away to gather his emotions before he glanced once again at his friend.

With a grin, Aramis offered his hand, “all for one…”

Porthos was the first to step forward and place his hand on top of Aramis’s. d’Artagnan smiled as he placed his hand on top of Porthos’s and finally, Athos placed his hand on the pile last.

Athos stared intently into Aramis’s eyes. The medic stared back with a silent message, _I have to do this, my friend._

Porthos barely glanced at Aramis but stared into the distance as anguish brewed in his dark eyes, still unable to understand—or accept—his old friend’s decision to leave.

Aramis looked at each of his three friends as d’Artagnan gave him a warm, but sad smile.

Alas, the four echoed together, “one for all,” before dropping their hands.

They all turned to watch as Aramis walked down the path without turning back. The medic didn’t dare look back at his friends, lest he change his mind at seeing their grieved faces.

d’Artagnan stood with his hands on his hips, watching his friend leave. Inside he thought, _Aramis is really leaving; I can’t believe this! He’s just walking away?_

Porthos held his hat in his hands, absently rubbing at it, as he watched his friend, his brother of many years, walk away.

*****

At the wedding ceremony of Constance and d’Artagnan, Athos wasn’t paying attention to the words the priest was saying as his mind drifted to thoughts of Milady.

_Is she still waiting for me? Do I still have time to meet with her before she leaves? I must hurry if I’m going to make it in time._

Athos rushed to exit the church but was stopped by the newly appointed Minister for War, Tréville, who stood in Athos’s path.

“War has been declared on Spain, all leave has been canceled,” Tréville stated, his demeanor serious.

Athos looked down as panic flashed through his eyes. He stepped forward to leave, “I’ll report to the garrison later.”

“You’ll report there now,” Tréville stated dryly. “See to your men.”

Athos looked to Minister Tréville with surprise, “my men?”

“I’m Minister for War; I’m making you Captain of the Musketeers.”

Athos barely suppressed a laugh of astonishment, “me?” 

Minister Tréville nodded, saying nothing.

“I’m not fit to lead anyone,” Athos whispered as he leaned in close to Tréville.

“The men look up to you; you can’t let them down.”

Athos turned his eyes away, staring ahead as Tréville watched him with concern. “We all have our duty, Athos,” the minister reminded. 

Tréville’s words brought Athos’s attention back to present company. The new captain stared at the minister quietly before glancing back at the ongoing wedding ceremony. Constance closed in the space between her new husband and kissed d’Artagnan on the lips as Athos and Tréville watched from the back of the chapel.

Athos’s thoughts returned to Milady. He frowned then turned to leave the chapel, as Tréville walked forward to give the bad news of the war to the newly married couple.

**Musketeer Garrison:**

Athos took a note handed to him as he yelled, “move out!” Porthos locked eyes with the new captain knowing something troubled him, though he knew not what it was.

Athos resolved to depart for the rendezvous to meet with Milady before she left for England and time was of the essence. The captain was not sure what he would say to his wife but he wanted closure; he hoped that it was not already too late.

Athos gathered the reins on his magnificent black steed, Roger, then climbed into the saddle and rode out through the garrison gate.

 

Milady heard a horse approach and stepped out of the carriage, her heart ever hopeful; but instead, her heart sank when she saw it was not Athos. She gazed wishfully down the road, in one direction and then the other, but saw no sign of her husband.

_How foolish of me, did I really think Athos would appear? Could we have ever hoped to be the same couple as when we were so young and innocent?_ she sighed sadly.

~§~

Porthos,” Tréville called to the Musketeer with a smile.

“Minister,” Porthos replied as Tréville’s smile grew wider at the new title.

Tréville looked down at the object in his hand, “this has seen me through many campaigns,” he said as he lifted the sword. “You would do me a great honor by bearing this in battle,” he offered the prized sword to Porthos.

Porthos took the sword, unsheathed it just enough to look at the blade and smiled. “Hmm,” he grunted with appreciation, “I’ll wear it with pride.” The Musketeer shook hands with the minister as Tréville smiled at him proudly.

~§~

Athos arrived at the rendezvous at last but the carriage was nowhere to be seen. He spotted the glove left on the ground as a lasting reminder of a young love that once was beautiful… but could never be again.

 

Athos walked his horse back through the garrison gates as Porthos watched. The large Musketeer had been unsure whether his new captain would come back from his mysterious mission and was grateful to see him return. However, the look of sadness on Athos’s face made Porthos’s heart break and, rather than approach him, he felt it best to leave the captain alone with his own private thoughts.

 

Constance and d’Artagnan walked slowly down the stairs of the garrison then stopped on the steps to kiss. No words were spoken between the couple as Constance reluctantly let go of her husband; he stepped away without looking back.

Tréville glanced up at Constance as she watched from the stairs and gave her a reassuring smile, though it did little to calm the fears within her heart of whether she would ever see her husband alive again.

Athos put his hat on his head as he approached Porthos and d’Artagnan. “It’s not right, is it?” Porthos shook his head and frowned. “Jus’ the three of us.”

d’Artagnan shook his head and stared at the ground as Tréville watched them in the background.

“That Aramis would be ‘ere, if he knew the war was on,” Porthos looked at his two friends. Athos looked back at the garrison gate, as though willing his friend to appear on command.

“Perhaps someone should tell him,” d’Artagnan suggested with a grin.

They exchanged silent looks of regard then glanced back at Tréville with an unspoken question of hope.

“See you return before the regiment rides to the border,” Tréville gave his permission.

Porthos and d’Artagnan broke out in large smiles as Athos watched his friends, showing no emotion himself.

The three brothers rode out of the garrison as Constance and Tréville watched them leave.

~§~

“After you, Porthos,” d’Artagnan challenged the group to speed up. They prompted their horses into a gallop with whistles and verbal cues as Porthos laughed with hopeful anticipation of bringing his wandering friend back into the fold.

d’Artagnan raced his horse ahead, with Athos taking up the rear, each hopeful they could convince Aramis to ride to war with them. The future was indeed uncertain with frightening prospects of certain danger as war loomed ahead. 

The three brothers knew not whether they would all survive the war with Spain. However, if they faced the enemy together they knew they could conquer the loneliness, the despair, the dangers and fears, and possibly even the casualties, as an enduring brotherhood.

The Musketeer motto was made for a moment such as this; their bold and daring ride was _for_ Aramis. _All for one,_ could ring no truer than for this very occasion as the three brothers rode to retrieve the one who was missing. None of the brothers could contemplate even the possibility of going into war without their trusted, loyal, and ever-loved brother, Aramis, riding by their side.

As they rode toward Douai, thoughts of war were pushed aside and were replaced with thoughts of hope. An earnest hope of bringing back with them a brother who had walked away and had resolutely let them go. So they rode to complete their brotherhood; they rode to complete their motto. _And one for all,_ was within their grasp—Aramis had only to reach out and take it… and never let go. From that moment on, they would never let go.

Fini

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had issues with how S2 episode, _Trial and Punishment,_ showing the departure of Aramis, was handled, as I believed it to be too unemotional. We can only speculate what happened at the monastery when the boys rode to retrieve Aramis, but I would like to think, even with the broken promises I wrote about in this story, that Aramis would see an obligation to join them for war. The three brothers were so hopeful as they rode to retrieve Aramis—could you imagine how hurt they would be if they rode all that way, only to have Aramis tell them no?
> 
> Some fanfic authors have contemplated that Aramis stayed and perhaps joined them four years later- but would the three friends be as accepting of him after all that time? Personally, and from a military point of view, I find it hard to believe that the brothers could just pick up where they left off four years ago and come back together as though nothing happened. The three boys would have seen the horrors of war—blood, despair, gore, pain, anguish, death—while Aramis was tucked safely away at the monastery living in peace.
> 
> Aramis would no longer be able to relate to his friends, **even though he had seen war and experienced war himself years earlier** —it would not be the same. Real examples of soldiers who served in WWII prove this point exactly. 
> 
> When a soldier missed out on a major campaign due to an injury (or other reason), as that soldier returned, oftentimes he found a completely different atmosphere and reception to him than before. For example, if a soldier missed out on D-Day, or the Battle of the Bulge; or had missed the invasion at Okinawa or Iwo Jima, when he returned to the unit, he no longer could relate to his buddies who did experience that campaign. In our American Civil War, if a soldier missed (for example), the battle of Antietam or Gettysburg and was not there with his brother soldiers to experience that hell, he could not relate to those who **did** experience it—though he had seen war elsewhere. Each battle was different; each battle was glue that bonded brothers. If one was missing that experience, they were missing the commonality and the bond between their other brothers who _were_ there.
> 
> I believe that is where Aramis would find himself if he sat out the first four years of the war. Unfortunately, the writers of the show may not think of such realities of real life and may just show Aramis rejoining the brotherhood four years later as though no gap had happened and they just pick up where they left off… but we can only speculate until S3.


End file.
